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MARGARET  BLAKE 


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IN  MEMQRlANi 
1  Mary  J,   L.   MoDonald 


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V. 

•  •  *  • 


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WAS   A    FACE    TO    CHANGE    THE    MAP   OF    EMPIRES. 

Frontispiece         Page  270 


THE  GREATER  JOY 

A  Romance 


BY 

MARGARET  BLAKE 


ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 

E.  A.  FURMAN 


G.  W.    DILLINGHAM    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


•  •  •   * 


'  v  COPYRIGHT,  19 1 2,  BY 

G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 


The  Greater  Joy 

IN  MEMORIAM 

MARY   J  L  MCDONALD 


CONTENTS 

THAPTER  PAGE 

I 7 

II 22 

III 35 

IV 67 

V. 78 

VI s in 

VII 119 

VIII 134 

IX 145 

X.     149 

XI 160 

XII 170 

XIII.     184 

XIV 195 

XV.     212 

XVI.     236 

XVII 251 

XVIII 259 

XIX 301 

XX 311 

XXI 343 

XXII 385 

XXIII 403 

XXIV 412 

XXV 431 

XXVI 437 

XXVII 452 

XXVIII , 457 


.)80i) 


00 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 

Hers  was  a  face  to  change  the  map  of  empires           Frontitpiea  270 

"  We  will  have  the  grounds  to  ourselves "           •        •        •        •  90 

A  strand  of  coral  beads  left  her  breathless  with  delight       •        •  1 79 

She  could  remember  no  prayer  adapted  to  her  needs  .        •        •  348 


THE  GREATER  JOY 


CHAPTER  I 


"Alice  Vaughn/'  said  the  head  nurse  sententkmsiv; 
"inasmuch  as  the  incomparably  senile  old  tossils  who 
run  this  institution  have  prohibited  our  hazing  proba- 
tionary nurses  as  formerly,  we  are  reluctantly  forced  to 
resort  to  these  means  of  testing  your  fitness  to  be  in  our 
midst.  The  Court  of  Inquiry,  which  you  see  here  con- 
vened, has  prepared  a  series  of  questions  to  be  put  to 
you,  and  which  you  must  answer.  Our  reason  for 
doing  so  is  not  a  frivolous  one.  We  want  no  mental  or 
ethical  tenderfeet  in  our  midst.  We  are  determined  to 
weed  out  the  unfit  at  the  beginning  of  every  term.  Now, 
if  you  are  the  kind  of  girl  who  blushes  every  time  men- 
tion is  made  of  an  obstetrical  instrument,  we'd  rather 
get  rid  of  you  at  the  start." 

The  person  to  whom  these  words  were  addressed 
started  slightly  and  a  faint  flush  overspread  her  face  and 
neck.     The  nurse  continued: 

"If  you  are  squeamish,  and  prefer  to  avoid  cross- 
examination,  you  are  at  liberty  to  walk  out  of  this  room 
unmolested.  You  will  have  no  malice  to  fear  from  us  in 
the  future,  nor  yet  any  kindness  to  expect.  You  will 
be  immune  from  both. 

"Alice  Vaughn,  do  you  prefer  to  leave  us  while  there 

7 


8  THE    GREATER    JOY 

is  yet  time?  Once  the  inquiry  has  begun,  you  must  re- 
main until  it  is  finished,  and  I  warn  you,  you  must  keep 
your  countenance,  or  we'll  have  you  up  for  contempt  of 
court.    Alice  Vaughn,  the  Court  awaits  your  answer !" 

Lottie  Hamblin,  the  nurse  who  delivered  this  absurd 
charge,  was  small,  dark  and  wiry.  About  her,  in  a 
semicircle,  seated  on  the  floor  for  lack  of  sufficient 
chairs,  were  two  and  twenty  young  women  in  nurse's 
garb.    All  eyes  were  focussed  upon  the  girl  addressed. 

Alice  Vaughn,  probationary  nurse  at Hospital, 

Manhattan,  was  of  an  unusually  fair  type  of  blonde.  It 
was  to  her  remarkable  pallid  coloring  that  the  impres- 
sion of  transcendent  loveliness,  which  she  conveyed,  was 
usually  ascribed.  The  charm  which  she  radiated  was 
due  fully  as  much  to  the  gentle  sweetness  of  her  manner 
as  to  her  beauty,  and  her  features  were  as  exquisite  as 
her  coloring.  Her  complexion  was  creamily  white,  like 
the  petals  of  a  jonquil  or  a  water-lily;  her  lips  were  the 
pale  pink  of  Japanese  coral,  showing  her  to  be  anaemic, 
and  her  halo  of  fair  hair  attracted  attention  by  the  ab- 
sence of  the  golden  lustre,  which  usually  is  the  chief 
glory  of  fair  women.  In  spite  of  this  singularity,  per- 
haps because  of  it,  her  hair  contained  a  strange  allure. 
It  drew  the  eyes  again  and  again,  like  a  magnet — mak- 
ing the  beholder  search  his  memory  for  something  of 
similar  hue  with  which  to  compare  it.  But  the  quest 
was  usually  fruitless.  The  right  metaphor  eluded  those 
who  sought  it. 

She  had  regained  her  composure,  and  stood  quietly 
behind  the  barrier  formed  by  an  old-fashioned  sofa  and 
a  table,  arranged  to  represent  a  prisoner's  dock.  There 
was  nothing  in  her  manner  now  of  either  embarrass- 
ment or  self-consciousness.  She  did  not  reply  at  once, 
and  Lottie  Hamblin  said  tartly : 


THE    GREATER    JOY  9 

"Why  don't  you  reply,  Miss  Vaughn?  Unless  you  do, 
we'll  have  you  up  for  contempt  of  court." 

"If  you  please,"  spoke  up  the  young  girl  dryly,  "what 
is  the  penalty  for  contempt  of  court?" 

Lottie  grinned.  The  newcomer  had  a  sense  of  humor. 
It  boded  well. 

"We  haven't  quite  decided,"  she  replied.  "But  it  will 
be  nothing  less  than  making  you  eat  ten  pounds  of  choco- 
late peppermints  at  a  sitting." 

"Who  pays  for  them,  you  or  I  ?"  laughed  Alice,  quick 
as  a  flash. 

The  two  and  twenty  girls  sitting  in  the  semicircle 
smilingly  evinced  their  appreciation. 

"Look  here,  Miss  Vaughn,"  went  on  Lottie  Hamblin 
severely,  "you  haven't  told  us  yet  whether  you'll  stay 
or  go." 

"I  certainly  prefer  jolly  companionship  to  the  cold 
shoulder,"  said  Alice  softly. 

"I  appeal  to  the  Court,"  cried  Lottie.  "Are  we  going 
to  like  the  newcomer?" 

"Indeed  we  are!"  shouted  the  two  and  twenty. 

"You  hear,  Miss  Vaughn?"  said  Lottie,  with  feigned 
pompousness.  "The  Court  is  indulgent.  Now,  are  you 
ready  for  the  Ordeal  by  Fire?" 

"Fire  ahead !"  said  Alice  calmly. 

Silence  fell  about  the  listeners.  They  all  knew  the 
nature  of  the  questions  to  be  propounded  to  the  slim,  fair 
young  girl,  and  some  of  them  had  the  grace  to  feel  a 
slight  embarrassment.  One  girl  giggled.  Lottie  coughed 
ominously. 

"Miss  Vaughn,  how  old  were  you  when  you  first  knew 
what  the  conjugal  relation  actually  is?" 

Alice  had  expected  some  absurd  query,  some  wretched 
tomfoolery  such  as  girls  sometimes  indulge  in,  and  had 


10  THE    GREATER    JOY 

braced  herself  to  cope  with  fantastic  but  innocent  non- 
sense. The  brutal  question,  for  which  she  was  wholly 
unprepared,  once  more  brought  the  color  to  her  face  as 
from  the  sting  of  a  lash.  Her  mouth  quivered,  but  her 
eyes  were  cold  and  angry.    She  answered  defiantly, 

"Sixteen." 

"Spirit,  my  child,  is  excellent;  temper  reprehensible," 
Lottie  reproved  her  in  a  maternal  tone.  "What  did  you 
think  of  the  revelation?" 

"I  thought  it  vile,  abominable,  detestable,  and  think  so 
still  whenever  I  happen  to  think  of  it,  which  isn't  often." 

"And  how  old  are  you  now  ?" 

"Nineteen." 

"Well,  well,  you  seem  to  be  less  variable  in  your  opin- 
ions than  most  of  your  sex.  But  there  is  plenty  of  time 
ahead  of  you  in  which  to  mature.  Who  told  you — 
ahem — acquainted  you  with  the  particulars?" 

"A  friend,"  Alice  answered  shortly.  Tears  were  rising 
in  her  throat  and  laughter  was  plucking  at  her  lips — 
tears  of  mortification  and  embarrassment,  and  laughter 
that  was  akin  to  hysteria. 

"A  friend,  you  say,  told  you.  Yes,  it  is  usually  a 
friend.  May  I  inquire,  was  the  friend  of  masculine  or 
feminine  gender?" 

"A  girl,  of  course."  The  young  nurse's  eyes  were 
ablaze  with  indignation. 

"That  is  by  no  means  a  matter  of  course,  Miss 
Vaughn,"  said  Lottie  indulgently.  "Young  men,  as  well 
as  young  women,  have  been  known  to  possess  the  knowl- 
edge requisite  for  imparting  such  information." 

Alice  could  not  repress  the  smile  which  the  inquisitor's 
facility  at  repartee  brought  to  her  lips. 

"Why  are  you  laughing?"  Lottie  demanded,  feign- 
ing anger.    "You  are  expected,  Miss  Vaughn,  to  preserve 


THE    GREATER    JOY  11 

perfect  gravity  of  demeanor.     Your  mirth  is  unseemly." 

"Even  when  it  is  a  tribute  to  your  wit?"  demanded 
Alice. 

Pretending  not  to  hear,  Lottie  turned  to  the  others : 

"Do  you  think  we  are  going  to  like  this  young  woman, 
gentlemen  of  the  jury — I  meant  to  say,  ladies  of  the 
court  ?" 

"We  are  going  to  love  her!"  shouted  the  two  and 
twenty. 

Lottie  resumed:  "Have  you  ever  been  kissed,  Miss 
Vaughn,  or  are  you  an  unkissed  daughter?" 

"Mother  always  kissed  me  good  night,"  Alice  re- 
sponded with  the  utmost  gravity. 

"Oh  dear,  oh  dear,  such  innocence!  By  a  man,  my 
child,  by  a  man !" 

"Father  also  always  kissed  me  good  night." 

The  two  and  twenty  embraced  each  other  with  rap- 
turous mirth. 

"Hear,  hear !"  they  shouted.    "Hear,  hear !" 

Lottie  pounded  the  floor  with  the  gavel. 

"Would  you  consider  it  preferable  to  be  the  wife  of  a 
man  you  didn't  love  or  the  mistress  of  a  man  you 
adored?" 

"I  object,"  interrupted  Alice.  "I  cannot  answer  that 
question  intelligently,  because  I  have  been  confronted 
with  the  first  contingency  only,  and  that,  Heaven  knows, 
was  bad  enough." 

"Do  you  mean  us  to  infer  from  that  that  you  have 
never  been  in  love?" 

"Never!" 

"And  you  are  nineteen !  Young  ladies,  did  any  of  you 
attain  the  age  of  nineteen  without  being  in  love?  AH 
those  who  did  say  'aye.'  " 

There  were  no  "ayes,"  and  the  girls,  contorting  their 


12  THE    GREATER   JOY 

faces  to  express  incredulity  and  wonderment,  looked  at 
each  other  gravely,  wagging  their  heads  from  side  to 
side,  with  an  inanity  of  expression  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  the  chorus  of  a  musical  comedy. 

"Have  any  of  you  reached  eighteen  without  being  in 
love?  None.  Seventeen,  sixteen,  fifteen?  One  'aye.' 
Only  one  'aye'  at  fifteen.  Miss  Vaughn,  here  are  twenty- 
two  normal,  healthy,  young  women,  and  out  of  the  twen- 
ty-two only  one  reached  fifteen  years  of  age  without  hav- 
ing been  in  love.  And  you  at  nineteen  claim  to  be  ignor- 
ant of  the  sensation.  Are  you  quite  sure  you  are  speak- 
ing the  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth  ?" 

"Quite  sure." 

"Well,  then,  you  have  my  sympathy  for  your  back- 
wardness. You'd  better  hurry  and  make  up  for  lost 
time.    It's  very  sweet  to  be  in  love." 

"Is  it?"  queried  Alice  ironically. 

"Hush;  you  are  here  to  answer  questions,  not  to  ask 
them.    Has  any  man  ever  made  love  to  you?" 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  ask  for  a  definition  of  the 
phrase,  'making  love/  before  I  can  reply  intelligently." 

The  two  and  twenty  fairly  exploded  with  enjoy- 
ment. 

"Miss  Vaughn,"  said  Lottie  severely,  "such  frivolity  15 
lamentable.  If  you  were  an  ugly  young  v\oman,  your 
retort  would  have  moved  the  Court  and  myself  to  pity? 
to  compassion,  for  we  are  by  no  means  without  heart. 
We  would  even  have  been  tempted  to  dress  up  one  of  our 
number  as  a  man  with  instructions  to  'make  love'  to  you, 
in  order  to  afford  you  the  experience  which  you  pretend 
you  lack.  But  you  are  a  phenomenally  lovely  young 
woman,  and  it  is  quite  unthinkable  that  you  have  not 
already  tempted  more  than  one  masculine  creature  to 
make  eyes  at  you.     We  will,  therefore,  dispense  with  a 


THE    GREATER    JOY  13 

truthful  reply  to  my  last  query,  and  proceed  to  the  next. 
Has  any  man  ever  proposed. to  you?" 

"Yes." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

"I  accepted  him." 

A  shout  of  laughter  rang  through  the  room.  In  vain 
Lottie  pounded  the  floor  with  the  gavel.  The  girls  were 
uproarious. 

Lottie  finally  succeeded  in  making  herself  heard. 

"You  are  trifling  with  the  Court !"  she  shouted.  "Re- 
member the  ten  pounds  of  chocolate  to  be  eaten  at  one 
sitting !  You'll  be  sick  for  a  week !  You'll  never  be  able 
to  tolerate  the  sight  of  sweets  again !  What  do  you  mean 
by  saying  you  engaged  yourself  to  be  married  after  pre- 
tending such  highfaluting  disgust  with  matrimony?" 

"Oh,  dear,"  said  Alice  petulantly,  "I  assure  you  I  am 
speaking  the  truth.  When  I  engaged  myself  I  didn't 
know  what  marriage  meant.  As  soon  as  I  knew  I  broke 
the  engagement." 

She  laughed  nervously,  and  two  red  spots  appeared  on 
either  cheek. 

"Heavens  and  earth !"  exclaimed  Lottie.  "Devilish  in- 
teresting this  is.  But  perceive,  if  you  please,  Miss 
Vaughn,  that  the  Court  is  not  devoid  of  delicacy.  We 
are  extremely  interested  in  your  remarkable  confession, 
but  we  refrain  from  further  inquiries,  realizing  that  your 
personal  affairs  are  none  of  our  business.  One  more 
question,  Miss  Vaughn,  and  then  this  trial,  in  which  you 
have  borne  yourself  with  praiseworthy  fortitude,  will  be 
over.  Do  you  really  think  you  will  never  change — do 
you  really  never  intend  to  marry  ?" 

The  two  little  red  spots  on  either  cheek  deepened,  and 
Alice's  fingers  locked  and  interlocked  nervously. 

"I  shall  never  marry,"  she  said  weakly. 


14  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"You  are  not  observing  precision  in  replying.  Preci- 
sion is  a  very  important  quality  in  women  of  our  profes- 
sion.   Do  you  really  never  intend  to  marry  ?" 

Alice's  embarrassment  became  painfully  apparent. 
This  was  sudden  and  unexpected,  for  she  had  taken  the 
verbal  hazing  good-naturedly,  and  the  girls  looked  at 
each  other  in  astonishment. 

"I  do  not  intend  to  marry,"  she  said  half-defiantly.  "I 
shall  never  marry  a  man  I  do  not  love.  And — I  do  not 
want  to  fall  in  love." 

To  the  consternation  of  the  other  young  women,  she 
burst  into  tears. 

She  could  not  tell  them — how  could  she? — that  for 
over  a  year  a  frightful  feeling  of  fear  had  been  growing 
in  her,  fear  of  meeting  a  man  with  whom  she  would  fall 
in  love.  Instinctively  she  felt  that  love  would  mean  more 
to  her  than  to  the  average  woman,  that  if  any  obstacle 
were  to  interpose  between  the  man  and  herself,  she  would 
go  mad.  And  yet  she  had  spoken  the  truth  during  the 
catechism. 

.  This  frame  of  mind  is  not  unusual  with  young  girls. 
Modesty,  decorum,  decency,  the  sense  of  propriety  of  a 
well-bred  girl  tend  to  make  the  marriage  relation  appear 
as  an  indescribably  revolting  tie ;  but  the  deeper  instincts 
of  sex,  of  the  flesh — sometimes  purely  of  maternity — en- 
tice the  pure-minded  young  girl  into  new  channels,  and 
she  soon  finds  that  the  gulf  between  herself  and  the  rest 
of  womankind,  between  herself,  her  mother  and  her 
grandmother,  is  not  as  impassable  as  she  would  like  to 
believe. 

On  seeing  Alice's  tears,  Lottie  and  the  other  nurses 
were  filled  with  compunction.  The  newcomer  had  borne 
herself  so  well  through  the  ordeal,  and  had  taken  every- 
thing in  such  good  part,    hat  they  felt  sorry  for  her. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  15 

They  filed  out  of  the  room,  and  when  they  had  gone,  the 
head  nurse  very  kindly  apologized  for  having  carried  the 
joke  so  far.  Later  the  girls  came  back,  marching  two 
by  two,  and  carrying  ice  cream,  bonbons,  cakes,  and  some 
delicious  fancy  sandwiches. 

Alice  joined  heartily  in  the  merriment  that  followed, 
and  to  her  surprise  enjoyed  the  evening  immensely,  for 
the  girls  were  lively  and  witty,  and  better  bred  than  Alice 
had  believed  possible  while  her  castigation  was  going  on. 
Moreover,  it  was  a  great  novelty  and  a  great  treat  for 
her  to  find  herself  among  a  lot  of  bright,  mischievous 
girls  of  her  own  age.  She  did  not  even  regret  the  humili- 
ating culmination  of  the  hazing,  since  it  seemed  to  have 
created  a  feeling  of  general  good-fellowship. 

But  when  at  last  she  was  alone  in  her  own  dormitory, 
a  myriad  of  recollections  came  flooding  back  to  worry 
her  and  keep  her  awake. 

She  remembered  poignantly  the  afternoon  when  her 
bosom  chum,  Sally  Hoskins,  had  acquainted  her  with  the 
mystery  of  life.  She  was  only  sixteen,  and  one  of  the 
boys,  five  years  older  than  she,  who  had  gone  all  through 
school  with  her,  had  asked  her  to  marry  him.  Appar- 
ently every  one  knew  that  he  was  going  to  ask  her  to  be 
his  wife,  for  her  aunt,  who  had  adopted  her  after  her 
parents'  death,  had  instructed  her  that  when  Ned  asked 
her  to  marry  him,  it  would  be  her  duty  to  accept  him, 
because  it  was  part  of  the  plan  of  Nature  to  have  girls 
marry,  and  Ned,  having  well-to-do  people,  would  be  able 
to  give  her  a  comfortable  home.  This,  her  aunt  said, 
was  providential,  for  she  had  very  little  money  to  leave 
Alice,  as  her  widow's  pension,  on  which  she  principally 
depended  for  ready  cash,  would,  of  course,  cease  with 
her  demise.  Alice  had  not  questioned  her  aunt's  argu- 
ments in  the  least.    She  was  a*  docile  girl,  and  moreover, 


16  THE    GREATER    JOY 

she  lived  so  intensely  in  her  own  world  of  dreams  and 
books  that  realities  mattered  very  little.  She  was  a  great 
reader,  and  her  uncle's  library  was  filled  with  books  of  all 
sorts — books  good,  bad  and  indifferent,  and,  undetected 
by  her  aunt,  who  lived  in  gentlewomanly  ignorance  of 
the  poison  for  young  minds  that  lurked  behind  the  covers 
of  some  of  the  volumes,  she  spent  entire  days  devour- 
ing English  translations  of  French  masterpieces — books 
hardly  fit  reading  for  a  girl  of  sixteen  brought  up  in  the 
secluded  and  compressed  atmosphere  of  a  New  England 
household. 

Her  imagination,  of  course,  had  taken  fire,  but  with 
the  god-like  virginity  of  mind  that  is  possible  only  in  a 
state  of  perfect  innocence,  this  girl  of  sixteen,  knowing 
no  evil,  had  seen  none  in  the  books  which  she  read,  had 
perceived  only  the  delicacy  of  sentiment.  To  her  a  liaison 
was  only  a  sweet-sounding  foreign  word  for  a  friendship, 
dignified  by  secrecy,  unsoiled  by  sordid  and  mercenary 
thoughts.  These  women,  wives  of  rich,  odious,  neglect- 
ful husbands,  who  had  barely  a  sou  in  their  purses,  who 
asked  their  "lovers"  to  play  at  rouge  et  noir  for  them, 
who  won  fabulous  sums  and  divided  them  with  their  im- 
pecunious "lovers;"  or  who  begged  fortunes  from  aged 
relatives  to  pour  them  into  the  hands  of  their  admirers, 
seemed  to  her  not  women  of  flesh  and  blood,  not  puppets 
who  existed  merely  on  paper,  but  creatures  from  fairy- 
land— goddesses. 

How  wonderful  was  life,  she  mused!  In  those  far- 
away days  she  had  thought  how  happy  she  would  be  if 
some  day,  when  Ned  and  she  were  married,  she  might 
drive  through  the  streets  of  a  great  city,  to  seek  in  some 
odd  way  to  make  her  fortune,  with  a  handsome  young 
man  at  her  side,  who  adored  her  and  had  not  a  sou — or  a 
penny — in  his  pocket,  and  who  was  her  lover. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  17 

But  one  thought  troubled  her  in  those  early  days,  an 
inchoate  thought — a  thought  that  was  still  unborn  but 
which  kept  trembling  somewhere  on  the  threshold  of  her 
consciousness,  that  pulsed  near  the  base  of  her  brain. 
What  had  her  aunt  meant  when  she  said  that  it  was  part 
of  Nature's  plan  that  girls  should  marry?  Was  there 
more  to  marriage  than  she  knew?  What  more  could  it 
be  than  living  under  the  same  roof  with  a  man,  in  the 
same  house,  and  sleeping  with  him  in  the  same  room? 
She  had  thought  in  those  innocent  days  that  it  must  be 
terribly  embarrassing  to  sleep  in  the  same  room  with  a 
man,  even  though  he  were  your  husband.  She  was  un- 
usually modest,  even  for  a  girl.  She  remembered  how 
one  time,  when  she  had  slept  at  Sally's  house,  and  had 
shared  Sally's  room  for  the  night,  Sally  had  laughed  at 
her  for  virtually  dressing  and  undressing  with  her  night- 
gown on,  because  the  thought  that  Sally  might  see  her 
bare  limbs  outraged  her  sense  of  decorum. 

Soon  after  that  she  had  become  engaged  to  Ned,  and 
Ned  had  kissed  her  twice,  once  on  either  cheek.  But  he 
had  often  kissed  before,  when  they  were  boy  and  girl  in 
school ;  he  had  frequently  kissed  her  after  carrying  home 
her  books  for  her  from  school.  But  a  few  evenings  after 
that  he  had  kissed  her  on  the  lips,  and  the  sensation  of 
his  warm,  moist  mouth  had  been  very  disagreeable  to 
her,  had  made  her  think  of  touching  a  snail  or  a  cater- 
pillar. But  she  had  not  liked  to  tell  him  this;  he  had 
seemed  so  happy  because  she  had  allowed  him  to  kiss 
her  lips. 

One  day  her  aunt  had  told  her  to  avoid  walking  past 
a  certain  house  as  much  as  possible,  and  when  Alice  had 
asked  the  reason  her  aunt  had  said :  "The  woman  who 
lives  there  is  not  a  good  woman ;  she  has  an  illicit  love 
affair."    And  Alice  had  never  forgotten  the  look  on  her 


18  THE    GREATER    JOY 

___ ____________ ___-__. ________ ________—__———-_ ___________ _______ __ 

aunt's  face  as  she  said  this.  It  had  been  a  look  of  loath- 
ing and  disgust,  and  somehow  it  seemed  to  the  girl  that 
there  was  insinuated  into  it  a  bit  of  envy.  After  that  she 
had  something  more  to  wonder  about.  What  did  that 
mean — "an  illicit  love  affair  ?"  If  only  she  had  dared 
to  ask  Sally  about  this  and  also  about  marriage.  But 
Sally  was  always  calling  her  "silly,"  and  she  would  cer- 
tainly think  it  ridiculous  of  her  to  imagine  there  might  be 
something  else  to  marriage  than  what  every  one  knew,  or 
that  an  "illicit  love  affair"  meant  anything  else  than 
merely  being  fond  of  a  man  who  wasn't  your  husband. 
But  why  should  there  be  such  a  fuss  about  it  if  a  woman 
happened  to  be  fond  of  some  other  man,  since  she  was 
permitted  to  be  fond  of  other  women,  and  no  one  thought 
anything  about  it? 

Nevertheless,  the  idea  that  there  was  "something  else" 
persisted,  and  the  young  girl  witnessed  strange,  unholy 
phantoms  winging  their  way  across  the  background  of 
her  consciousness.  Yet  always  and  always  she  kept  them 
from  crossing  the  threshold. 

Then  the  unexpected  happened.  Sally  had  come  to 
her  one  day,  quite  seriously,  and  without  teasing  or  scof- 
fing, had  told  Alice  that  she  considered  it  her  duty  as 
an  older  friend  to  ask  her,  since  she  was  engaged  to  be 
married,  whether  she  knew  just  what  the  marriage  rela- 
tion was. 

The  young  girl's  ears  were  very  pink,  as  she  answered : 

"I  think — I  suppose,  I  don't  see  what  else  it  can  be,  but 
just  sleeping  together,  or  perhaps — don't  think  me  hor- 
rid, will  you,  Sally? — having  to  undress  in  the  same 
room.    That  seems  dreadfully  shocking  to  me." 

Sally  looked  volumes. 

"You  poor,  dear,  innocent,  white  little  lamb,"  she  said, 
"you're  engaged  to  be  married,  and  it  is  just  as  I  thought. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  19 

You  have  no  idea  what  you  are  letting  yourself  in  for." 

"What — what  is  there,  if  not  that?"  she  stammered. 

Sally  sighed.  How  in  heaven's  name  was  she  to  com- 
municate the  bald  truth  to  this  white-souled,  little  human 
blossom  ?  She  had  been  told  herself,  but  she  strongly  dis- 
approved of  the  candid  fashion  in  which  she  had  been 
apprised  of  the  facts — for  she  was  a  delicate-minded  girl, 
and  she  believed  in  maintaining  as  intact  as  possible  the 
veil  of  discretion  in  which  fastidious  folks  mask  the  raw 
nakedness  of  life.  She  was  about  to  tear  a  deep  rent  in 
the  gossamer  fabric.  The  world  would  never  look  the 
same  again  to  poor  little  Alice.  But  Sally  was  no  coward, 
and  she  meant  to  acquit  herself  more  creditably  of  her 
difficult  task  than  her  friend  had  done. 

She  began  after  the  fashion  of  some  obsolete  theo- 
logians, by  dwelling  upon  the  fact  that  the  body  should 
be  really  considered  the  shadow  of  the  soul,  and  mar- 
riage, or  the  union  of  a  man  and  woman,  as  the  fleshly 
counterpart  or  symbol  of  their  spiritual  union.  But 
that,  of  course,  was  not  plain  enough,  and  she  was  forced, 
against  her  inclination,  in  order  to  accomplish  her  self- 
appointed  task,  to  be  frank  and  plain,  without  any  verbal 
embroidery  or  mystical  embellishment.  Alice  looked  at 
her  blankly  with  horror  in  her  eyes,  and  cried  out : 

"Oh,  Sally,  I  didn't  think  you  were  that  sort  of  a 
girl " 

But  the  inchoate  thought,  inchoate  and  unshaped  no 
longer,  but  full-born  and  clearly  formulated,  came  and 
stared  at  Alice  and  smirked  and  laughed,  and  said,  "You 
wouldn't  listen  to  me,  would  you  ?" 

Then  had  followed  the  necessity  of  breaking  the  en- 
gagement, for  Alice  was  quite  sure  she  would  never  care 
for  Ned  "in  that  way,"  as  if  any  decent  woman  could 
ever  care  for  any  man  in  that  way !    She  didn't  believe  it, 


20  THE    GREATER    JOY 

she  wouldn't  believe  it,  although  Sally  pityingly  assured 
her  that  the  ability  to  do  so  was  what  constituted  the 
mystery  of  life.  She  felt  so  nauseated  about  the  whole 
question  of  marriage  that  she  was  unable  to  touch  food 
for  several  days,  and  whenever  she  thought  of  it,  strange 
little  spasms  ran  down  her  back  and  upward  through  her 
body.  Her  aunt  refused  to  allow  her  to  break  the  en- 
gagement, and  when  questioned  as  to  her  reasons  for 
wishing  to  break  it,  she  could  give  none. 

In  her  despair  she  went  to  Sally's  mother,  hoping  that 
she  would  understand  a  detailed  explanation,  for  Sally 
told  her  that  it  was  really  her  mother  and  not  herself 
who  had  suspected  Alice's  abysmal  ignorance.  Sally's 
mother  understood,  and  promised  to  speak  to  Ned.  She 
must  have  been  a  very  brave  woman  to  speak  to  him  as 
she  did,  for  when  he  refused  to  release  Alice  she  told 
him  roundly  that  the  girl,  when  she  promised  to  marry 
him,  had  had  no  conception  of  what  the  relations  of  hus- 
band and  wife  were.  Had  any  one  in  the  little  village  of 
Westerley  imagined  that  Mrs.  Hoskins  could  speak  so 
frankly  to  a  young  man  on  such  delicate  matters,  they 
would  have  considered  her  an  improper  person,  for  Wes- 
terley was  one  of  those  communities  where  a  strange 
code  of  propriety  prevails,  and  though  a  woman  may 
marry  and  have  children,  yet  she  must  never  discuss  "such 
matters,"  and  must  allow  her  daughter  to  go  to  her  hus- 
band wholly  unprepared  and  uninformed,  unless  by  the 
intervention  of  some  instinct  or  miracle,  knowledge  comes 
to  her. 

So  the  engagement  was  definitely  broken.  Sally  mar- 
ried a  wealthy  Bostonian,  and  her  mother  and  father  went 
abroad  for  a  year.  A  little  later  Alice's  aunt  died.  The 
young  girl  rented  out  the  little  homestead,  and  the  rental, 
together  with  the  meagre  sum  of  money  her  aunt  left 


THE    GREATER    JOY  21 

her,  brought  her  about  five  hundred  dollars  a  year.  This 
would  have  been  an  ample  income  for  Westerley,  but 
then  a  slight  incident  changed  the  entire  current  of  her 
life. 

She  fell  ill,  and  an  operation  of  the  nose  became  neces- 
sary. Mrs.  Hoskins  happened  to  be  back  in  New  York 
at  the  time,  and  it  was  she  who  selected  the  hospital  to 
which  Alice  was  taken,  and  who  selected  the  physician. 
The  operation  was  not  a  very  serious  one,  and  the  young 
girl  found,  to  her  surprise,  that  she  was  thoroughly  en- 
joying her  stay  in  the  hospital. 

A  very  romantic  girl,  it  seemed  to  Alice  that  to  take 
care  of  the  sick,  to  nurse  them  and  make  them  happy  and 
comfortable,  was  the  most  ideal  work  to  which  a  woman 
could  aspire.  She  thought  she  would  like  to  be  a  nurse, 
and  she  spoke  to  Mrs.  Hoskins  about  it.  Mrs.  Hoskins 
at  first  violently  opposed  the  plan,  but  Alice  was  so  in- 
sistent, that  Sally's  mother  finally  yielded.  Alice  had 
another  reason  for  wishing  to  become  a  nurse.  Her 
studies  would  take  her  away  from  Westerley,  and  she 
would  not  be  forced  to  see  Ned,  who,  since  their  unfor- 
tunate engagement,  had  inspired  her  with  a  sort  of  ter- 
ror, particularly  as,  soon  after  her  new  knowledge  had 
come  to  her,  she  began  to  have  a  strange  premonition 
of  what  love  might  some  day  mean  to  her. 

Of  all  this  she  thought,  as  she  lay  between  sleeping 
and  waking,  and  finally  she  fell  asleep,  wondering  what 
the  conqueror  would  be  like,  and  when  he  would  come 
into  her  life. 


CHAPTER  II 

Alice  was  happy  in  the  vocation  she  had  selected.  The 
work  appealed  to  her,  and  she  took  a  keen  delight  in  the 
acquisition  of  medical  knowledge.  She  was  the  youngest 
probationary  nurse,  and  partly  because  of  this,  and  partly 
because  of  her  singular  beauty,  she  was  spoiled  and  pet- 
ted by  every  one.  She  decided  to  take  up  a  course  in 
medicine  after  finishing  the  course  in  nursing,  and  the 
resident  physician,  an  elderly  man,  Doctor  Etheridge, 
was  extremely  proud  of  his  "youngest  gosling,"  and  em- 
braced every  chance  that  offered  itself  of  extending  ex- 
ceptional opportunities  to  her. 

Connected  with  the  hospital  proper,  where  the  nurses 
received  their  training,  was  the  New  York  Institute  of 
Medical  Research,  of  which  Doctor  Etheridge  was  the 
actual  head.  The  work  of  the  institute  was  highly  spe- 
cialized, and  Alice,  who  had  studied  stenography  in  the 
Westerley  High  School,  was  frequently  called  upon  to 
perform  the  duties  of  amanuensis  for  Doctor  Etheridge 
when  he  prepared  his  notes  for  publication  or  for  the 
records  of  the  institute. 

Of  course,  Alice  made  a  number  of  conquests  that 
first  year  in  the  hospital,  both  among  the  physicians  and 
among  the  patients.  But  while  she  liked  some  of  her 
"victims"  well  enough,  and  was  willing  to  be  on  perfectly 
friendly  terms  with  them,  they  awakened  no  correspond- 
ing feeling  in  her.  One  of  the  patients  was  a  very 
wealthy  young  man,  and  he  was  madly  infatuated  with 
her,  and  though  she  liked  him  very  well  indeed,  she 

22 


THE    GREATER    JOY  23 

would  not  consent  to  marry  him.  An  inner  voice 
warned  her,  whispered  to  her  that  the  day  would  come 
when  she  would  meet  the  man  who  indeed  would  be  the 
man  for  her,  who  would  dominate  and  enthrall  her, 
whose  personality  would  hold  the  subtle  poison  that 
would  corrode  her  power  of  resistance,  and  make  her 
willing  to  be  moulded  and  shaped  as  he  wished. 

The  thought  fascinated  and  horrified  her.  The  woman 
in  her  was  maturing  quickly,  and  with  it  came  the 
strange  conviction  that  love  would  mean  more  for  her 
than  for  the  average  woman;  that  it  would  mean  com- 
plete and  absolute  surrender  of  herself.  She  could  not 
explain  this  feeling.  But  it  was  strong,  it  persisted,  it 
haunted  her.  She  began  horribly  to  fear  meeting  the 
man  who  would  mean  so  much  to  her. 

One  day  there  was  brought  into  the  hospital  a  man 
who  was  suffering  from  acromegalia.  Alice  had  never 
before  come  in  contact  with  this  terrible  disease.  The 
man's  hands  and  feet  were  almost  twice  their  natural 
size;  his  head  was  enormous,  repulsive,  ghastly.  His 
neck  also  had  become  enlarged,  and  the  skin  of  his  neck 
and  throat  had  become  baggy  and  pouchy,  scaly,  goitre- 
like. He  was  so  weak  that  he  could  scarcely  move,  and 
he  lay  in  a  semi-comatose  condition  in  the  private  room 
of  the  institute,  into  which  he  had  been  taken  to  facili- 
tate examination.  Through  the  enlargement  of  his  body, 
his  epidermis  had  assumed  an  unsightly,  leatherlike, 
coarse  aspect.  The  network  of  the  skin  of  the  hands,  usu- 
ally so  fine  as  to  be  hardly  perceptible,  had  become  gro- 
tesquely conspicuous,  veining  hands  and  arms  like  deep 
canals  cut  through  high,  unsightly  ridges.  The  pores 
yawned  wide,  like  active  craters,  hideously,  colossally  re- 
pulsive. Every  physician  in  town  who  heard  of  the  case 
came  in  to  look  at  the  unfortunate  man.    As  he  was  un- 


M  THE   GREATER    JOY 

conscious,  they  speculated  in  the  room  where  he  lay  as 
to  the  probable  duration  of  his  life,  of  the  manner  in 
which  death  would  come,  of  the  possible  change  in  his 
condition  immediately  preceding  dissolution. 

The  second  day  after  he  had  been  brought  in,  Alice  was 
on  her  way  to  the  office  on  an  errand,  when  she  was 
stopped  by  the  head-nurse,  who  was  about  to  step  into  an 
elevator.    The  head-nurse  seemed  greatly  flurried. 

"My  dear  Miss  Vaughn/'  she  exclaimed,  "just  think  of 
it.  Doctor  Baron  von  Dette  and  his  cousin,  Baroness 
Sylvia,  are  down  stairs.  I  was  on  my  way  down  stairs 
to  help  Doctor  Etheridge  entertain  them.  But  an  acci- 
dent has  occurred  in  the  operating  room  and  I  must  go 
right  up.  Go  and  make  my  excuses,  and  do  what  you 
can  to  make  things  agreeable  for  the  cousin.  She  is 
quite  a  young  girl.  Do  your  prettiest."  The  elevator 
began  to  move  before  she  had  ceased  speaking,  and 
Alice,  dismayed  and  annoyed,  was  left  to  proceed  alone 
to  the  office. 

There  was  that  inflection  in  the  head-nurse's  voice  as 
she  spoke  that  told  Alice  that  Doctor  Baron  von  Dette 
was  some  distinguished  man,  although  she  had  no  recol- 
lection of  having  heard  the  name  before.  In  pondering 
on  the  curious  manner  of  the  head-nurse,  who  was 
usually  the  most  imperturbable  of  persons,  a  picture  of 
the  visitors  formed  itself  upon  the  retina  of  her  im- 
agination. 

Undoubtedly  he  was  some  yellow-haired,  puffy,  vul- 
gar-looking, none-too-clean  savant,  who,  through  one  of 
Nature's  freaks,  had  received  the  gift  of  a  remarkable 
brain.  She  knew  that  type  of  foreigner  only  too  well. 
Or  he  was  some  old,  pinched-looking,  weazened  monkey 
sort  of  man;  or  again,  some  man  of  massive  counte- 
nance, with  a  long,  unkempt  beard.    The  cousin,  doubt- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  25 

—■————■  — ■»—       —■—■——■■■————— —————— 

less,  was  some  pretty,  simple,  stupid  creature.  Alice's 
notions  of  foreigners  were  not  flattering. 

But  as  she  entered  the  little  ante-room  which  adjoined 
the  office,  she  became  momentously  aware  that  there  was 
nothing  commonplace  about  the  von  Dettes.  Even  as 
she  entered  the  room,  on  its  very  threshold,  she  was  ap- 
prized in  some  intangible,  occult  way  that  the  atmosphere 
which  these  two  beings  exhaled  was  surcharged  with  an 
ineffable  grace,  an  indescribable,  delicate,  subtle  refine- 
ment 

The  Baroness  was  a  petite,  very  young,  very  pretty, 
piquant  brunette,  excessively  animated  in  manner;  but 
in  spite  of  her  girlishness,  in  spite  of  her  astounding 
vivacity  which  was  discernible  even  when  she  was  in  re- 
pose, there  was  about  her  nothing  callow  or  gauche.  She 
carried  herself  wonderfully  well.  Alice  had  never  seen 
such  distinction  in  any  woman,  and  this  struck  her  as 
all  the  mort  remarkable  because  of  the  extreme  youth 
and  slight  stature  of  her  visitor.  Her  toilette  was  per- 
fect. There  was  nothing  offensively  modish,  nothing 
blatantly  fashionable  about  it.  The  singular  chic  of  her 
coiffure,  her  hat,  her  gown,  bewildered  Alice;  the  taste 
was  so  apparent,  so  well-defined,  so  undeniable,  and  the 
style  was  so  intangible,  so  obliterated,  so  elusive. 

All  this  Alice  grasped  on  the  instant.  In  another  mo- 
ment she  had  glanced  at  the  young  girl's  cousin,  Doctor 
Baron  von  Dette. 

A  man  more  than  ordinarily  tall,  dark  in  complexion 
like  his  cousin,  of  undefinable  age,  wonderfully,  almost 
insolently,  well-groomed,  with  pallid  hands  and  a  pallid 
face  and  strangely  luminous  eyes,  with  a  personality  that 
was  singularly  effective,  not  so  much  for  forcefulness 
conveyed  as  for  forcefulness  masked  and  hidden  from 
sight.     There  was   some    latent    strength  in  the    man, 


26  THE    GREATER    JOY 

something  vaguely  titanic,  some  Herculean  power  that 
might  become  terrifying.  But  all  this  was  not  suggested 
by  his  languidly  graceful  manner  which  seemed  rather 
to  imperfectly  veil  the  slumbering  volcanic  forces  that 
were  at  work  somewhere  under  the  suave,  smiling  ex- 
terior of  the  famous  physician.  And  what  seemed  most 
salient  of  all  to  Alice  was  that  this  man's  presence  car- 
ried with  it  the  air  of  a  man  of  the  world,  a  man  of  lei- 
sure and  pleasure,  rather  than  that  of  the  professional 
man  whose  activity  is  purely  intellectual  and  never  ma- 
terial. 

She  delivered  the  message  to  Doctor  Etheridge  and 
was  introduced  by  him  to  the  von  Dettes.  As  the  Baron 
bowed  to  her  and  then  reseated  himself,  a  strange,  in- 
stinctive feeling  of  terror  came  over  her.  There  was 
something  colossal  in  that  reserve  strength  of  his.  It 
seemed  like  a  menace,  it  irritated  her,  fascinated  her, 
moved  her.  When,  after  greeting  her,  he  swept  his 
eyes  downward  over  her  person  and  away  from  her,  she 
seemed  for  one  moment  to  be  placed  by  herself  on  some 
lofty,  isolated  pinnacle,  and  there  came  an  illusion  to  her 
as  of  a  ribbon  of  light  streaming  from  his  eyes,  a  magic 
ribbon  of  light  of  no  color,  such  as  the  moon  sheds  upon 
the  rippling  water  in  summer,  or  a  searchlight  swinging 
carelessly  hither  and  thither,  from  sea  to  sky,  from  sky 
to  sea,  intertwining,  interlacing,  interweaving,  impreg- 
nating and  caressing  the  sea,  and  rending  and  piercing 
the  heavens. 

Breaking  the  awkward  silence,  Doctor  Etheridge  said : 

"Doctor  von  Dette  is  anxious  to  see  our  beautiful  case 
of  acromegalia,  Miss  Vaughn,  and  now  you  have  come, 
and  as  the  Baroness  does  not  care  to  admire  our  inter- 
esting specimen,  we  will  leave  her  in  your  care." 

"It  is  very  good  of  Miss  Vaughn  to  take  the  time  to 


THE    GREATER    JOY  27 

entertain  my  cousin,"  said  Doctor  von  Dette  carelessly. 

There  was  something  in  his  manner  of  speaking,  or  in 
the  voice,  that  irritated  Alice  unspeakably.  Like  his 
cousin,  he  spoke  English  perfectly.  That  he  was  a  for- 
eigner was  evinced,  not  by  an  accent,  but  by  a  peculiar 
cadence,  a  sort  of  musical  intonation  of  the  voice. 

The  two  young  women  were  left  alone. 

"Men  are  very  heartless,"  said  the  Baroness.  "Fancy 
speaking  so  frivolously  of  such  a  terrible  case." 

"The  heartlessness  is  pretended  rather  than  real,"  re- 
plied Alice  indulgently. 

The  Baroness  smiled  archly.  With  an  amused  glance 
from  her  dark  eyes,  she  said: 

"I  forgot  that  I  was  speaking  to  a  trained  nurse." 

"Who  some  day  hopes  to  be  a  physician,"  added  the 
girl  quickly. 

The  Baroness  settled  herself  very  comfortably  in  her 
arm-chair,  and  regarded  her  companion  with  unfeigned 
astonishment. 

"Do  you  really  care  so  very  much  for  an  active  life  ?" 
she  asked. 

"Why,  yes,  of  course,"  said  Alice,  showing  her  sur- 
prise at  the  question. 

"You  are  too  beautiful  to  care  a  rap  about  the  devel- 
opment of  your  brain  capacity,"  said  the  Baroness  calm- 
ly, with  an  air  of  finality.  "It  is  a  crime,  nothing  less, 
for  a  woman  as  beautiful  as  you  are  to  develop  anything 
but  her  beauty  and  the  art  of  living." 

Alice  was  amazed  at  this  cynical  view  expressed  by  a 
girl  at  least  a  year  her  junior,  but  she  did  not  betray  her 
surprise. 

"If  a  woman  has  not  the  means  to  cultivate  the  art  of 
living,"  she  responded,  "it  is  perhaps  wise  to  cultivate  the 
means  of  living." 


28  THE    GREATER    JOY 

The  Baroness  laughed.  Her  laugh  was  frank,  low- 
pitched  and  utterly  sincere. 

"If  you  had  thought  only  of  cultivating  the  art  of  liv- 
ing, you  would  not  have  had  to  bother  about  the  other." 

Alice  smiled  at  the  petulance  with  which  the  words 
were  uttered. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said  mischievously,  "just  what  do  you 
designate  as  'the  art  of  living  ?' " 

"First,  last  and  all  the  time,  the  art  of  making  your- 
self as  pleasing  as  possible  to  the  eye." 

"To  the  feminine  or  to  the  masculine  eye?"  demanded 
Alice. 

The  Baroness  sent  forth  a  delicious  peal  of  laughter. 

"Frankly,"  she  said,  "what  is  your  opinion?  Do 
women  dress  for  women  or  for  men?" 

"That  means,  I  suppose,  do  women  dress  to  annoy 
women  or  to  please  men?" 

"You  are  adorable,"  cried  the  Baroness,  and  placing 
her  muff  across  her  knees,  she  folded  her  hands  over  it 
with  a  charming  gesture  of  complete  abandon.  "Tell 
me,"  she  entreated,  "which  is  it?" 

Alice  regarded  the  young  girl  seated  before  her  in  this 
beseeching  attitude  intently,  as  she  would  have  exam- 
ined a  beautiful  picture,  and  felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure  as 
she  noted  the  various  perfections  of  person  and  manner 
of  the  charming  little  Dresden  China  figure — the  soft, 
olive-complexioned  face  with  the  rose-glow  in  the  cheeks 
illumined  by  a  pair  of  the  most  wonderful  brown  eyes. 
They  were  a  soft,  velvety  brown,  like  the  petals  of  a 
pansy,  or  the  wing  of  a  butterfly.  They  seemed  like  a 
pair  of  gems,  like  mysterious  jewels,  polished  to  incred- 
ible smoothness  and  alive  with  some  inner  flame. 

"Which  is  it?"  repeated  the  Baroness. 

Alice  passed  her  hand  lightly  over  her  eyes.     She  had 


THE    GREATER    JOY  £9 

become  serious  suddenly.  She  found  herself  powerless 
to  fling  back  some  idle  badinage  in  response  to  the  ques- 
tion. It  seemed  to  her  that  a  truthful  reply  was  re- 
quired, that  some  matter  of  pith  and  moment,  something 
of  great  weight  depended  upon  the  veracity  with  which 
she  would  reply. 

"Is  it  not  a  matter  of  character,  of  temperament,  of 
the  individual  ?"  she  said,  and  as  she  gazed  at  the  young 
girl  sitting  opposite  to  her,  from  whose  lips  the  smile 
had  gradually  died  away;  it  seemed  to  her  that  this 
strange,  handsome  creature  was  studying  her  furtively, 
searchingly,  as  if  to  surprise  her  in  some  expression  that 
would  bare  her  very  soul.  She  became  perplexed.  To 
recover  herself,  she  continued  the  conversation. 

"Yourself,"  she  said,  "let  us  take  yourself,  for  in- 
stance. You  dress,  do  you  not,  solely  to  please  your- 
self?" 

"You  are  wrong,"  said  the  Baroness  quietly.  "Some 
day  I  will  tell  you  for  whom  I  dress,  for  I  am  sure  we 
shall  be  friends — you  and  I."  Rising  abruptly,  she 
walked  rapidly  the  entire  length  of  the  room,  and  back 
again.  She  halted  before  Alice,  her  manner  betraying 
agitation.  "Yes,  friends,"  she  repeated  softly.  "It 
must  be." 

And  these  words,  tragic  of  import,  charged  with  some 
occult  meaning,  prophetic  of  some  malignancy  of  fate, 
she  uttered  lightly,  barely  breathing  the  words,  letting 
them  flutter,  as  it  were,  from  her  lips. 

Then  she  came  and  stood  a  little  closer  to  Alice  than 
before. 

"How  fair  you  are!"  she  exclaimed  "One  would 
think  you  were  a  German." 

"And  you,  one  would  think  you  were  an  American — 
your  English  is  so  fluent." 


30  THE    GREATER    JOY 

The  Baroness  gave  a  silvery,  rippling  laugh. 

"Ever  since  I  can  remember,"  she  said,  "I  have 
spoken  English.  I  had  three  governesses,  one  English, 
one  German,  one  French,  and  these  governesses  and 
their  respective  languages  alternated  one  with  the  other. 
Ulrich  says  it  is  the  only  thing  I  do  well — express  my- 
self. You  must  know  he  detests  nothing  so  much  as  an 
unscientific  mind.     Poor  Ulrich !" 

"Ulrich  is  the  Doctor  Baron,  I  presume — or  should  I 
say  the  Baron  Doctor  ?"  said  Alice.  "Does  the  inherited 
title  rank  the  acquired  title?" 

The  Baroness  looked  vastly  amused. 

"The  acquired  title  ranks  the  inherited  title,"  she  re- 
plied, "as  you  put  it.  I  would  say  'we  keep  the  title  we 
are  born  with  closer  to  our  skins  than  the  other.' " 

Alice's  eyes  twinkled.  This  girl  certainly  was  deli- 
cious. 

"I  should  think,"  she  responded,  "since  you  choose  to 
put  it  that  way,  that  you  would  keep  the  title  that  is 
earned  closer  'to  your  skins.'  Is  a  title  earned  by  one's 
brains  not  better  than  an  inherited  title?" 

The  Baroness  became  grave. 

"Brains  are  so  plentiful,  so  abundant,  nowadays," 
she  said,  "that  to  possess  them  no  longer  confers  a  dis- 
tinction." She  sighed.  There  was  no  insolence  in  her 
voice,  although  the  words  in  themselves  were  arrogant. 
"Nothing  really  confers  distinction  nowadays,"  she 
continued  moodily,  "excepting  a  great  sorrow." 

She  seated  herself  again,  and  looked  across  at  Alice 
with  a  strange  look  of  yearning  in  her  beautiful,  soulful 
eyes. 

Her  animation,  in  spite  of  her  gravity,  had  not  abated 
in  the  least.  It  had  perhaps  become  a  trifle  accentuated. 
It  seemed  to  Alice  as  if  there  were  a  note  of  hysteria  in 


THE    GREATER    JOY  31 

her  manner,  and  when  she  spoke  again  it  was  with  an 
inflection  that  seemed  to  be  propelled  by  some  extrane- 
ous force. 

"That  is  what  I  desire,"  she  said  quickly,  "to  be  dis- 
tinguished by  the  visitation  of  some  devastating  grief, 
some  indomitable  sorrow." 

And,  oddly  enough,  there  seemed  nothing  morbid  ap- 
parently in  this  young  girl's  strange  desire  for  immola- 
tion. 

"I  have  desired  always  to  be  vulgarly  happy/'  said 
Alice. 

"You  cannot  really  mean  that,"  said  the  Baroness. 
The  words  came  swiftly,  with  unseasonable  incisiveness. 
"You  are  too  beautiful  to  be  Vulgarly  happy.'  Nature 
does  not  create  paragons  of  physical  perfection  to  tor- 
ture them  with  an  ordinary  enjoyment  of  life.  You  will 
be  either  superhumanly  happy  or  agonizingly  miserable." 

Again  she  rose  and  stood  before  Alice. 

"How  beautiful  you  are!"  she  said.  "How  beautiful 
your  hair  is !  I  would  like  to  touch  it.  I  will  not  dis- 
arrange it!" 

And  carefully,  tenderly,  exquisitely,  after  taking  off 
her  glove,  she  passed  her  ringers  through  the  girl's 
blonde  hair. 

"How  beautiful  you  are!" she  repeated  slowly, abruptly. 
A  look  of  pain  came  into  her  eyes,  and  puckered  her 
mouth  into  a  quivering  crimson  line.  Suddenly  she 
stopped  and  kissed  Alice  on  the  forehead. 

"I  hope  you  will  be  Vulgarly  happy/  nevertheless," 
she  said. 

There  was  a  noble  simplicity  in  the  words.  Alice's 
wonder  grew.  What  did  it  all  mean?  It  was  many 
weeks  before  she  was  destined  to  know. 

After  that,  the  Baroness  walked  to  the  window,  and 


THE    GREATER    JOY 


gazed  out  upon  the  flagstones  of  the  court  abstractedly. 

Alice  was  strangely  troubled.  As  the  young  girl  had 
kissed  her,  there  had  shuddered  through  her  the  thought 
of  this  girl's  cousin,  so  handsome,  so  dark,  so  distin- 
guished. Then  came  over  her  a  terrible  nervousness, 
such  as  she  had  never  known  before.  And  in  the  wake 
of  this  nervousness  came  terror.  The  atmosphere  in  the 
room  seemed  to  become  heavy,  portentous,  the  air  beat 
between  them  unquietly.  In  some  unaccountable  way 
Fate  had  bound  into  one  strand  the  many  that  weave 
themselves  into  a  human  life,  into  a  Gordian  knot.  A 
barrier  seemed  raised  between  her  and  that  little,  fragile 
figure  gazing  so  intently  with  unseeing  eyes  upon  the 
flagstones  of  the  court.  The  kiss  upon  Alice's  brow  she 
felt  had  marked  the  beginning  of  some  sinister,  irreme- 
diable fate. 

"How  long  they  are !"  said  Alice  finally. 

She  felt  bewildered,  ill  at  ease.  She  desired  to  make 
her  escape.  Without  she  heard  the  voice  of  Doctor  von 
Dette,  and  its  softness,  its  insinuating  cadence,  irritated 
her  and  annoyed  her. 

And  when  he  stood  before  her,  uttering  some  com- 
monplace remarks,  there  swept  over  her  with  renewed 
vigor  the  impression  that  this  man  was  pre-eminently  a 
man  of  the  world,  not  a  savant;  he  impressed  her  as  a 
man  perfectly  dressed,  perfectly  mannered  and  perfectly 
fed. 

By  what  devilish,  devious  subtlety  of  the  imagination, 
by  what  occult  pulsing  of  the  senses,  hers  and  his  in 
unison,  had  the  fascination  of  the  man  seized  her? 

She  trembled.  She  shuddered.  The  cold  beads  of 
perspiration  stood  upon  her  brow.  But  she  could  not 
dispel  the  thought.  This  was  a  man  who  had  denied 
himself  nothing.     He  had  partaken  of  the  banquet  of  life 


THE    GREATER    JOY 


and  love  whenever  caprice  had  impelled  or  appetite  had 
dictated;  he  had  fathomed  its  depths,  its  every  mystery, 
had  steeped  himself  in  its  essence.  And  the  knowledge 
he  had  gained  had  remained  to  abide  with  him  forever, 
and  becausce  of  all  this,  because  of  the  omnipresence  of 
his  reminiscences,  he  had  drawn  over  himself  that  cold, 
impassive,  immobile  mask. 

What  was  this  man's  true  character?  As  she  asked 
herself  the  question,  she  caught  his  glance,  travelling 
over  her  person  slowly,  devouringly.  It  seemed  to  dis- 
robe her,  to  scorch  her  flesh.  The  desire  to  escape  was 
almost  uncontrollable. 

Doctor  Etheridge  spoke,  and  the  sound  of  his  voice 
seemed  to  break  the  spell.  She  pulled  herself  together 
violently.  He  was  telling  her  that  Doctor  von  Dette  was 
anxious  to  go  over  his  various  notes  on  nervous  diseases, 
of  which  he  made  a  specialty.  As  Miss  Vaughn  was 
the  only  nurse  competent  to  take  stenographic  notes, 
and  was  also  thoroughly  familiar  with  Doctor  Ethe- 
ridge's  memoranda,  Doctor  von  Dette  had  requested  that 
she  be  relieved  from  duty  for  a  few  mornings  to  assist 
him. 

"That  is,"  von  Dette  put  in  in  his  unnaturally  soft, 
caressing  voice,  "if  wholly  agreeable  to  you.'* 

Alice  murmured  her  acquiescence.  What  else  could 
she  do?  And  all  the  while  she  felt  these  strangely  lumi- 
nous eyes  gliding  over  her,  enmeshing  her,  feasting  upon 
her. 

"If  ever  I  fall  ill,  you  must  nurse  me,"  said  the  Baron- 
ess.    "Promise." 

Alice  promised. 

"Meanwhile  you  must  visit  me,  and  if  it  is  permitted, 
I  shall  call  upon  you." 

They  were  gone  at  last,  and  Doctor  Etheridge  with 


34  THE    GREATER    JOY 

them.  The  girl  was  left  alone.  But  there  remained  with 
her  a  keen,  almost  violent  recollection  of  him  in  whose 
personality  lurked  the  subtle  poison  which  would  corrode 
and  disintegrate  her  power  of  resistance,  which  was,  she 
felt  sure,  to  cause  her  untold  misery  and  anguish. 

She  realized  her  danger,  and  trembled.  What  could 
she  do,  how  avert  the  peril  that  threatened?  She  could 
not  run  away.  She  had  not  even  the  inclination.  She 
could  no  more  help  desiring  to  meet  this  man  again  than 
she  could  help  breathing. 


CHAPTER  III 

Ulrich  von  Dette,  attired  in  a  dark  red  velvet  dress- 
ing robe,  sat  in  a  comfortable  arm-chair,  before  an  open 
blazing  gas-log  fire,  smoking  the  cigarettes  which  served 
him  as  a  night-cap.     Incidentally  he  was  thinking. 

"I  expect  to  be  in  New  York  four  or  five  months  at 
most,"  he  said  half-aloud.  "The  question  is :  How  long 
will  it  take  me  to  win  her?" 

He  slid  into  a  more  comfortable  position,  one  more 
conducive  to  hard  thinking.  Undoubtedly  she  was  the 
most  delicious  thing  he  had  ever  seen.  If  he  succeeded 
in  winning  her,  it  would  make  his  stay  in  New  York 
very  much  pleasanter  than  he  had  anticipated.  He  won- 
dered whether  she  had  ever  had  a  lover.  He  thought 
not.  If  she  had,  it  would  of  course  facilitate  his  woo- 
ing ;  a  week  would  suffice  for  the  enactment  of  the  pro- 
logue, for  the  little  preliminary  comedy  of  fine  speeches 
and  love-making  which  good  taste  and  breeding  re- 
quired. He  hoped  she  had  not  had  a  lover.  It  would 
be  an  incomparable  experience  to  be  the  first  to  initiate 
so  delicious  a  creature  into  the  mysteries  of  love.  He 
did  not  believe  she  had  had  a  lover.  There  was  about 
her  something  so  girlish,  so  pristine,  so  maidenly.  And 
this  pale,  slim  girl  was  Diana-like.  She  was  perfect ! 
Yet  who  can  read  women?  Even  he  had  sometimes 
blundered. 

His  cigarette,  burning  down,  scorched  his  finger.  He 
flung  it  into  the  open  fire,  and  lit  another. 

35 


36  THE    GREATER    JOY 

Sylvia  had  dropped  a  remark  about  Miss  Vaughn's 
cleverness.  Of  course  women  had  different  notions 
from  men  of  what  constituted  cleverness  in  women. 
Still  he  considered  Sylvia  a  fair  judge.  The  girl  had 
struck  him  also  as  clever;  Doctor  Etheridge  had  praised 
her  braininess.  Possibly  she  was  the  type  of  woman 
who  would  develop  her  brain  at  the  expense  of  her 
looks,  and  who,  at  forty,  would  be  an  authority  on 
juvenile  diseases  and  dress  like  a  frump. 

At  all  events,  at  present  she  was  delicious,  delectable. 
He  thought  of  Shakespeare's  words,  "sport  for  Jove.'' 
But  it  was  only  her  really  remarkable  beauty  that  made 
him  think  of  these  words.  But  he  could  not  afford  to 
become  too  deeply  interested  in  her,  since,  in  the  course 
of  events,  he  would  have  to  terminate  the  affair  four  or 
five  months  hence. 

It  was  possible  that  he  would  not  succeed  in  winning 
her.  American  working  women,  that  is,  women  of  pure 
American  stock,  were  notoriously  chaste,  very  different 
from  their  self-supporting  sisters  of  the  Continent,  who 
claimed  a  lover  as  one  of  their  inalienable  privileges  in 
return  for  the  burden  of  self-support.  It  was  worth  a 
trial,  at  any  rate,  and  if  he  did  not  succeed,  even  a  mere 
flirtation  would  afford  him  considerable  pleasure  and  re- 
laxation. He  needed  both;  he  had  worked  shockingly 
hard,  like  a  galley-slave,  ever  since  his  arrival  three 
weeks  ago.  He  could  not  spare  the  time  to  take  an  act- 
ive interest  in  sport,  and  moreover,  while  he  was  fond 
of  horses  and  interested  in  aeronautics,  there  was  no 
sport  in  the  world  comparable  to  the  wooing  and  the 
winning  of  a  woman.  Nothing  relaxed  him  so  complete- 
ly, and  his  nerves  were  really  quite  unstrung  from  the 
amount  of  work  he  had  put  in  during  the  past  three 
weeks.     He  was  visiting  the  hospitals,  and  making  notes 


THE    GREATER    JOY  37 

of  all  unusual  cases,  and  he  had  performed  as  many  as 
five  operations  in  one  day  since  his  arrival,  because  all 
the  hospitals,  whose  courtesies  he  had  claimed  and  ac- 
cepted, had  asked  him  to  perform  at  least  one  operation 
for  the  benefit  of  their  medical  staff. 

He  was  only  twenty-nine,  but  he  had  already  made  a 
name  for  himself  in  the  medical  world  by  the  discovery 
of  a  fluid,  which,  when  injected  into  the  tissues  and 
muscles  surrounding  the  part  to  be  operated  upon  imme- 
diately before  the  operation,  had  the  effect  of  driving 
back  the  blood  from  the  blood  vessels  of  these  parts, 
thereby  enabling  the  surgeon  to  perform  a  bloodless 
operation.  Considerable  skill  and  judgment,  however, 
were  required  in  injecting  the  fluid,  for  if  not  enough 
were  injected,  the  astringed  veins  and  arteries  would 
expand  before  the  operation  was  completed,  and  con- 
siderable loss  of  blood  would  result,  or  if  too  much  of 
the  fluid  were  injected,  the  veins  would  remain  sealed 
too  long,  and  the  flow  of  blood  be  retarded  unduly. 

This  discovery  of  his,  and  his  cultures  of  the  pneumo- 
coccus  on  agar  plates,  had  made  him  famous.  Sometimes 
he  regretted  his  rank.  For  months  at  a  time  he  had  de- 
voted himself  exclusively  to  science,  impregnating  him- 
self with  its  spirit,  and  then  suddenly  he  would  feel  the 
incubus  of  his  rank,  and  at  such  times  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  forget  that  he  might  some  day  be  called  upon 
to  occupy  a  throne,  and  even  if  that  possibility,  which 
was  remote,  did  not  occur,  it  was  a  matter  of  months 
only  before  his  grandfather,  the  present  king,  who  was 
very  feeble,  would  die,  and  he  would  be  called  upon  to 
assume  the  regency  for  the  future  king,  the  present  heir- 
apparent,  who  was  a  boy  of  eight.  The  name  of  Baron 
von  Dette  was  of  course  only  a  medical  incognito  he  em- 
ployed when  travelling. 


38  THE    GREATER    JOY 

He  lit  another  cigarette.  Would  he  succeed  in  win- 
ning this  pretty  nurse?  The  outcome  was  uncertain. 
Suddenly  he  remembered  how  the  pupil  of  her  eye  had 
invaded  the  iris,  changing  the  color  of  her  eye  from  blue 
to  black  during  the  fraction  of  the  moment  in  which  he 
had  held  her  glance.  That  made  him  more  certain  of 
success.  He  must  have  made  some  sort  of  an  impression 
on  her,  and  with  young  girls — she  could  not  be  more 
than  twenty-one — first  impressions  were  potent. 

If  he  succeeded,  he  reflected  that  she  had  a  reputation 
to  lose.  Doctor  Etheridge  had  spoken  very  highly  of 
her,  and  it  would  therefore  not  do  to  compromise  her  by 
going  where  either  he  or  she  might  be  recognized.  A 
man  of  honor  considered  that  it  was  incumbent  upon  a 
gentleman  to  safeguard  in  every  possible  way  the  repu- 
tation of  a  woman.  He  would  have  to  secure  an  apart- 
ment. It  would  be  wise  to  do  this  at  once.  The  apart- 
ment would  not  be  wholly  wasted,  at  any  rate,  for  if  he 
did  not  succeed  with  her,  he  would  have  to  find  some  one 
else.  He  reached  for  the  memorandum  pad  on  which 
he  jotted  down  notes  for  his  valet.  Hahn  had  an  im- 
peccable taste  and  had  acquitted  himself  creditably  in 
delicate  missions  of  the  sort  before.  Hahn  must  find 
him  an  apartment  to-morrow. 

He  threw  away  the  cigarette  end  and  reached  for  an- 
other. He  found  to  his  surprise  that  he  had  finished  the 
entire  box.  He  laughed.  It  occurred  to  him  that,  in- 
credible though  it  was,  he  was  actually  a  trifle  in  love 
with  this  pale,  fragile  girl  whom  he  had  seen  that  day  for 
the  first  time.  Certainly  her  face  seemed  to  dance  before 
his  eyes  in  the  bluish  gas  flames,  and  it  seemed  to  assume 
expressions  which  he  had  not  seen  there.  Perhaps  his 
calculations  were  not  quite  as  cold-blooded  as  he  himself 
believed. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  S9 

A  good  strategist,  he  opened  his  campaign  the  next 
day. 

They  had  workel  all  morning  over  Doctor  Ethe- 
ridge's  culture  notes.  Ulrich  was  amazed  once  or  twice 
at  the  insight  Alice  evinced  in  forestalling  his  remarks, 
and  in  tendering  whatever  explanations  were  necessary. 
He  said  nothing  to  her  until  they  had  finished  their 
morning's  work.     Then  he  said: 

"You  do  your  work  admirably,  Miss  Vaughn.  You 
have  been  well  trained  ?" 

"I  assist  Doctor  Etheridge  a  good  deal,  as  you  have 
heard,"  she  answered  evasively.  He  noticed  that  she 
avoided  looking  at  him. 

"Do  you  lunch  now  ?" 

"No,  not  yet."  She  lifted  her  head,  and  this  time  she 
looked  straight  at  him.  Quickly  she  added :  "We  have 
an  hour  and  a  half  for  lunch  and  exercise.  Before  eat- 
ing, I  always  go  to  the  Park  for  a  brisk  walk." 

"I  am  going  in  that  direction,"  he  said  courteously. 
"May  I  drop  you  at  the  Park?  My  automobile  is  wait- 
ing." 

She  hesitated  before  answering,  and  the  troubled  look 
that  came  into  her  eyes  did  not  escape  him. 

"It  won't  take  me  out  of  my  way  in  the  least,"  he 
urged,  misunderstanding  her  hesitation. 

A  quick  flush  mounted  to  her  brow.  With  ready  tact 
he  realized  that  she  resented  his  assumption  that  he  was 
offering  to  take  her  in  order  to  please  her,  rather  than 
himself. 

"Thank  you,  I'll  walk,"  she  said  coldly. 

He  felt  a  throbbing  in  his  temples.  Decidedly  she  was 
worth  while.  She  understood  fine  nuances.  Good!  He 
would  exert  himself  as  he  had  never  exerted  himself  be- 
fore.    He,  breaker  of  hearts,  known  throughout  Europe 


40  THE    GREATER    JOY 

for  his  success  with  women,  would  not  fail  here.  She 
had  mettle;  all  the  better.  He  would  show  her  what  a 
finely-tempered,  dominant,  polished  man  was.  He  as- 
sumed his  most  ingratiating  air ;  the  little  rivulets  of  light 
streamed  freely  forth  from  his  eyes.  His  manner  was 
almost  a  caress ;  his  voice  as  intimate  as  a  kiss. 

"If  you  are  going  to  walk,  will  you  at  least  permit  me 
to  walk  with  you  ?  I  am  somewhat  downcast  this  morn- 
ing about  news  I  received  from  home,  and  I  had  hoped 
you  would  give  me  the  pleasure  of  your  company.  There 
is  nothing  so  cheering  in  the  world  as  a  brisk  talk  with 
a  clever,  congenial  woman." 

She  looked  at  him,  a  trifle  distrustfully,  he  thought. 
Again  she  avoided  his  eyes. 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  come  with  me,"  she  said 
at  length,  in  a  voice  devoid  of  all  expression. 

She  went  for  her  hat  and  coat,  and  when  she  came 
downstairs,  he  was  waiting  for  her  on  the  sidewalk  be- 
side his  machine. 

"Shall  we  ride  or  walk?"  he  asked  gently.  By  some 
trick  of  the  imagination,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  he  had 
stood  in  that  position  waiting  for  her  many  times  before, 
— as  if  they  were  old  friends. 

She  shook  off  the  lethargy  that  was  threatening  to  en- 
tomb her,  but  she  could  find  no  voice  to  answer  him. 
She  shivered  slightly. 

"If  we  ride,"  he  said  coaxingly,  "we  shall  have  so 
much  more  time  in  the  Park." 

Without  a  word,  she  walked  to  the  touring  car.  She 
felt  him  touch  her  elbow,  as  he  helped  her  step  into  the 
car. 

When  they  reached  the  Park,  he  asked  her  whether 
she  would  not  just  as  soon  ride  through  the  Park  as 
walk.     It  had  been  drizzling,  and  the  pavements  were 


THE    GREATER    JOY  41 

sticky  and  uninviting.  The  quick  motion  of  the  car  had 
exhilarated  her  blood,  and  with  a  little  toss  of  her  head 
to  shift  her  hat  into  position,  she  said : 

"Let  us  ride,  if  it  does  not  interfere  with  your  sched- 
ule." 

On  the  contrary,  he  assured  her,  she  was  doing  a  good 
deed.  He  lapsed  into  silence,  and  she  stole  a  furtive 
glance  at  him.  He  was  younger  than  she  had  at  first 
thought.  But  the  colossal  reserve  strength  was  all 
there,  plainly  visible  in  every  lineament.  He  was  really 
very  handsome,  very  distinguished-looking,  and  with  a 
little  thrill  of  pleasure,  she  noted  that  his  fur  coat  was 
real  seal,  and  that  the  cap  of  sealskin  which  he  wore  had 
a  jaunty  turban-like  appearance,  giving  his  face  a  soft 
glow  like  a  woman's. 

She  felt  a  sudden  desire  to  bend  over  and  kiss  him. 
Then  came  a  quick  reaction.  Seized  with  fright,  she  had 
the  sensation  of  having  been  mad  for  a  moment,  and  she 
was  not  quite  sure  that  she  had  not  been  momentarily 
out  of  her  mind  and  had  not  actually  kissed  him.  She 
averted  her  face,  and  pressed  her  left  arm  against  her 
wildly  beating  heart.  Why  had  she  come  out  with  him? 
She  had  known  when  she  saw  him  the  first  time  that  he 
was  the  man.  Why  did  he  not  speak  to  her?  Euro- 
pean men  did  not  wait  for  women  to  take  the  lead  in  con- 
versation, but  did  most  of  the  talking  themselves.  But 
he  was  waiting  for  her  to  say  something.  Never  had  she 
felt  so  green  and  callow  and  stupid.  There  was  not  a 
thing  she  could  think  of  to  say.  Suddenly  an  idea 
seemed  to  float  before  her  vision.     She  sighed. 

"How  long  do  you  intend  remaining  in  New  York, 
Doctor?" 

"It  is  curious,  Miss  Vaughn,  I  was  just  taking  inven- 
tory of  the  time  that  remains.    Three  or  four  weeks  at 


42  THE    GREATER    JOY 

most.  And  I  have  so  many  things  to  do  in  that  time — 
one  thing  in  particular." 

As  he  spoke  the  last  phrase,  he  looked  at  her  linger- 
ingly  in  the  gentle,  languid,  luxurious  manner  peculiar 
to  him,  and  once  more  she  was  thrilled  with  fear.  She 
wanted  to  ask:  "What  particular  thing?"  But  she  re- 
membered that  it  would  be  a  horribly  ill-bred  thing  to 
do,  and  she  suppressed  the  words,  choked  them  down, 
swallowed  them.     Instead  she  said  casually: 

"You  are  a  very  busy  man?" 

"Yes,  very."  And  quite  suddenly  he  leaned  forward, 
over  her,  and  a  mad  thought  came  into  her  head  that  he 
was  about  to  embrace  her.  His  face  was  within  an  inch 
of  hers.  It  seemed  to  her  that  her  respiration  was  sus- 
pended from  terror  and  fright.     He  said: 

"Pardon  me,  Miss  Vaughn.  You  are  entirely  uncov- 
ered. I  want  to  tuck  that  robe  about  you  more  se- 
curely." 

She  thanked  him,  and  he  deftly  tucked  her  in.  She 
noticed  the  good  breeding  he  displayed  in  not  touching 
as  much  as  her  garment  as  he  secured  the  lap-robe. 

Back  in  the  hospital  at  last,  she  flung  herself  face 
down  upon  her  bed.  An  abyss  of  iniquity  seemed  to 
open  before  her.  She  knew  that  some  of  the  nurses  in 
the  hospital  allowed  the  men  to  kiss  them,  but  since  her 
school-days,  when  Ned  had  kissed  her  cheek — and  he  in 
those  days  had  seemed  like  a  brother — she  had  permitted 
no  man  to  take  any  liberties.  And  yet  she  had  felt  an 
actual  desire  to  kiss  this  man  who  was  an  utter  stranger 
to  her,  this  after  she  had  connected  him  in  thought  with 
loose  women.  The  shame  of  it!  It  seemed  to  her  that 
she  had  fallen  into  a  bottomless  pit  of  turpitude.  Then 
she  thought  of  his  handsome  sealskin  coat,  the  costly 
scarf  pin  he  wore,  his  beautiful  manners.     She  had  never 


THE    GREATER    JOY  43 

seen  any  clothes  hang  quite  as  well  upon  a  man  as  his 
did.  She  was  thankful  she  had  bought  the  pony-coat  at 
Christmas.  A  hundred  dollars  had  seemed  a  terrible 
price  to  pay  for  a  garment,  and  she  had  thought  that  she 
looked  like  a  millionaire's  daughter  in  it.  But  his  seal- 
skin coat  now  made  her  feel  shabby  and  poor.  She  also 
decided  to  wear  next  day  a  white  uniform  with  hand- 
embroidered  cuffs  and  collar,  but  she  suddenly  recalled 
it  was  in  the  wash. 

Ulrich  von  Dette  was  too  much  of  an  artist  in  love- 
making  to  repeat  a  ruse,  no  matter  how  successful.  The 
next  day  he  did  not  leave  his  machine  at  the  door,  nor 
did  he  ask  permission  to  walk  with  her;  but  when  Alice 
appeared  on  the  steps,  he  was  waiting  for  her,  and  he 
joined  her  as  if  it  were  the  natural  thing  to  do.  She 
could  not  keep  the  look  of  pleasure  out  of  her  eyes  when 
she  saw  him  waiting  for  her.  It  was  only  after  they  had 
walked  a  block  that  he  said : 

"I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  coming  along  so  uncere- 
moniously.   I  enjoyed  our  talk  so  much  yesterday." 

Alice  was  in  a  more  mischievous  mood  than  the  day 
before,  and  besides  it  was  even  nicer  to  go  pacing  down 
the  street  with  him  swinging  alongside  of  her  than  to 
sit  in  a  touring  car  with  nothing  to  do  but  tilt  one's  face 
against  the  wind.     So  she  said  roguishly: 

"If  you  really  enjoyed  our  talk  yesterday,  Doctor,  you 
must  believe  that  intellectual  silences  make  conversation, 
for  I  am  sure  we  were  both  very  silent." 

"She  is  adorable,"  he  thought.  Taking  the  hint,  he 
exerted  himself  to  entertain  her.  He  was  a  clever 
talker,  neither  frothy  nor  heavy,  and  as  they  fed  the 
squirrels  in  the  Park  with  peanuts,  he  spoke  of  various 
things.  He  asked  her  to  go  to  the  picture  gallery  in  the 
Metropolitan  Museum  with  him,  and  he  was  surprised 


44  THE    GREATER    JOY 

when  she  told  him  that  she  knew  hardly  any  of  the  great 
paintings  of  the  collection. 

"Nature  is  so  much  nicer  than  Art  can  ever  be,"  she 
explained,  laughing  to  cover  her  confusion.  "A  real 
landscape,  you  must  admit,  is  finer  than  any  painter  can 
represent  it." 

Then  he  explained  to  her  that  what  made  art  valuable 
and  dignified  was  not  the  mere  counterfeit  presentment 
of  some  real  thing,  but  the  temperament  of  the  artist  un- 
consciously revealed  by  him  in  handling  his  subject.  And 
he  cited  the  manner  in  which  various  masters  had  painted 
sunsets  to  illustrate  his  contention.  Inness,  he  said,  was 
dominated  by  the  sheerly  sensuous,  perfectly  sane  beauty 
of  dark-limbed,  rough  trees  and  a  golden  expanse  of  sky 
when  he  painted  his  famous  canvas  "Sunset  at  Mont- 
clair."  Diaz  rebelled  against  mere  rioting  in  sensuous 
charm  of  full-throated  color.  He  wanted  the  outlying 
trees  in  his  innumerable  forest  scenes  to  speak  of  the 
super-sensuous,  romantic  suggestion  of  darkling  lanes  of 
trees  approaching  an  open  copse,  where  the  sun  sends 
down  its  blaze  of  golden  radiance.  Daubigny  loved 
light  and  brightness,  loved  it  unrelieved  by  shadows,  but 
he  never  forgot  that  the  sun  which  warms  and  dazzles 
also  sucks  up  the  vapory  substances  from  the  earth  and 
the  rivers  to  convert  them  into  rain,  and  so  we  see  all  his 
landscapes  robed  in  a  dewiness,  a  moisture  that  is  all  his 
own  and  which  no  one  else  has  portrayed  because  no  one 
else  had  the  genius  to  see  it.  What  BJakeslock  loved 
best  at  sunset  was  the  violent  contrast  afforded  by  black- 
seeming  leaves  and  branches  silhouetted  boldly  and 
sharply  against  the  sulphurous  veil  spread  by  the  dying 
sun.  Rousseau,  too,  loved  this,  but  Rousseau  was  too 
comprehensive  to  allow  his  joy  in  a  part  to  usurp  his  joy 
in  the  whole,  and,  therefore,  where  Blakeslock  painted 


THE    GREATER    JOY  45 

only  leaves  or  branches  against  a  yellow  sky,  because  he 
was  too  full  of  their  beauty  to  have  eyes  for  anything 
else,  Rousseau  painted  an  entire  landscape,  showed  us 
the  entire  tree  standing  against  a  glow  of  golden-rai- 
mented  heaven,  but  along  the  outskirts  the  gold  was 
modulated  to  amber,  and  that  fainter  shade,  that  paler 
gold  was  a  premonition  that  the  cloth  of  gold  spread 
like  an  arras  behind  the  tree  cannot  last  but  must  wane 
and  disappear.  And  in  introducing  this  note  of  proph- 
ecy, in  suggesting  the  evanescence  of  the  glory  he  has 
pictorially  depicted,  Rousseau  has  added  and  superim- 
posed sublimity  upon  mere  beauty.  Monticulli  saw  in  a 
sunset  what  he  saw  in  everything  else — rhythm  pri- 
marily, rhythm  of  golden  light,  which,  in  fixing  upon 
canvas,  he  transmuted  into  visible  music.  His  figures  of 
fine  ladies  and  splendid  gentlemen,  of  cherubs  and  chil- 
dren, of  stately  trees  and  statelier  palaces,  are  depicted 
not  because  the  artist  considered  them  beautiful  in  them- 
selves, but  because  only  by  these  means,  by  graceful 
swish  of  dainty  skirt,  by  languorous  grace  of  bent  knee, 
could  he  portray  the  rhythm  which  underlies  all  Nature 
and  all  Art,  and  which  he  loved  so  frantically.  The  pig- 
ment he  used  has  not  preserved  the  outline  of  his  paint- 
ings. They  are  for  the  most  part  mere  splotches  of 
color,  but  so  potent  was  this  artist's  personality,  so  com- 
plete his  obsession  by  the  idea  which  dominated  him, 
that  we  can  feel  the  pulsing  of  those  bodies  whose  out- 
lines are  no  longer  distinguishable  as  they  danced,  or 
made  love,  or  promenaded.  And  their  insufficient  pres- 
ervation makes  them  more  precious; — like  the  torsos  of 
Greece,  whose  mutilated  condition  spurs  the  imagination 
not  to  mere  futility  of  effort  at  restoration,  but  to  the 
abiding  conviction  that  nothing  that  we  see  in  actual 
completion,  no  matter  how  beautiful,  can  be  as  flawless 


46  THE    GREATER    JOY 

and  as  perfect  as  these  ancient  statues  of  Greece  must 
have  been. 

As  for  Corot,  Ulrich  said  he  was  not  quite  certain,  but 
he  believed  Corot  had  never  done  an  actual  sunset. 
Corot  was  eminently  a  lyric  poet  of  the  highest  and  finest 
order,  and  so  drastically  epic  a  subject  as  the  fanfare  of 
trumpets  which  attend  a  sunset  would  necessarily  not 
have  appealed  to  him,  would  perhaps  have  been  resented 
by  him  as  being  a  trifle  gauche.  Corot  was  a  lyric  poet 
with  the  delicacy  of  touch  of  a  Keats  or  a  Shelley,  and 
certain  topics  he  proscribed,  being  satisfied  to  suggest 
them  as  having  recently  occurred  or  as  being  about  to 
occur.  No  painter,  no  poet,  either,  for  that  matter,  had 
understood  the  marvellous  potency  of  suggestion  as  Co- 
rot had  done,  or  had  understood  so  fully  the  true  wiz- 
ardry of  brush  and  canvas  and  color  as  implements  to 
conjure  up  a  picture  for  the  mind's  eye  rather  than  to 
paint  it  for  the  actual,  physical  vision. 

At  the  end  of  this  little  impromtu  lecture,  he  made  her 
promise  to  come  to  the  Museum  with  him  some  day.  She 
promised.  With  the  spell  of  his  voice  and  of  the  mar- 
vellous reach  of  his  imagination  still  upon  her,  she  would 
have  promised  him  more — much  more. 

As  he  walked  back  with  her  he  said : 

"We  have  only  four  more  mornings'  work  before  us, 
Miss  Vaughn,  that  is  all." 

It  had  never  occurred  to  her  to  answer  that  they  had 
so  far  worked  together  only  two.  He  had  succeeded 
admirably  in  his  intention  of  creating  in  her  the  impres- 
sion of  having  known  him  indefinitely. 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  see  you  after  we  are  through 
with  our  work  ?"  he  asked. 

She  smiled  softly  to  hide  the  joy  his  question  gave 
her. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  47 

"Why,  yes,  if  you  wish.     If  you  have  time." 

"They  allow  you  to  receive  visitors,  don't  they  ?" 

"Yes,  twice  a  week.     Wednesdays  and  Sundays." 

"Is  that  all  ?  Then  there's  no  help  for  it.  I  certainly 
cannot  be  content  to  see  you  only  twice  a  week.  You 
will  have  to  call  on  me.    Will  you  ?" 

She  turned  her  head  and  looked  him  straight  into  his 
eyes.  There  was  a  query  in  her  own  that  seemed  to 
blind  her  against  seeing  him.     He  quailed  a  little. 

"Baroness  Sylvia  has  asked  me  to  call  on  her  also," 
she  said  quickly.  "Would  it  be  good  form  for  me  to 
call  at  the  house  without  a  further  invitation?" 

His  heart  exulted  as  he  perceived  that  she  was  by  far 
more  clever  than  he  had  thought.    He  answered : 

"I  have  taken  an  apartment  further  down  town  for 
myself.  The  house  on  Riverside  Drive  is  so  far  up.  It 
was  my  apartment  that  I  referred  to  when  I  asked  you 
to  call.  Sylvia  will,  of  course,  be  delighted  to  see  you  at 
Riverside  Drive." 

He  saw  that  her  lips  trembled,  and  for  a  moment  he 
thought  that  she  was  about  to  cry.  Her  nervousness 
was  apparent  when  she  spoke. 

"Doctor  von  Dette,  I  do  not  know,  of  course,  what 
the  custom  is  abroad.  But  here  it  is  not  considered  the 
right  thing  for  a  young  woman  to  visit  a  man's  apart- 
ments." 

"Oh,  it's  a  bit  unconventional,  I  admit,"  he  replied  eas- 
ily. "But  for  two  sensible  persons,  like  you  and  I, 
both  so  deeply  interested  in  science,  it's  all  right,  of 
course.  I  have  some  lovely  pneumococcus  cultures  and 
a  rabbit  inoculated  with  a  serum  guaranteed  to  be  a  lep- 
rosy serum.     You  love  rodents,  you  know." 

"I  don't  love  rodents  at  all,"  she  retorted  quickly. 
"And  if  I  did,  I  would  hardly  want  the  poor  things  tc 


48  THE   GREATER   JOY 

have  leprosy  foisted  upon  them.  I  do  not  know  that  I'm 
as  much  interested  in  science  as  you  imagine." 

He  smiled  as  he  answered: 

"Perhaps  you  are  a  little  more  interested  in  me  than  I 
dare  hope." 

"I  do  not  see  the  relevancy,"  she  objected. 

He  put  his  hands  in  her  arm,  in  answer,  and  walked 
along  with  her  a  few  steps  in  that  way. 

"Please  let  go  my  arm,"  she  protested.  "We  are  walk- 
ing along  like  Darby  and  Joan." 

"I  wish  we  were,"  he  said  insinuatingly. 

"I  don't,"  she  retorted  indifferently. 

"Cruel!" 

"Not  at  all!"  she  laughed.  "Darby  and  Joan  are  al- 
ways pictured  as  two  old,  shrivelled  persons.  It's  much 
nicer  to  have  all  of  life  before  us,  to  be  young  as  we  are, 
and  tolerably  good  looking." 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  he  said  with  mock  effusiveness. 

Saucily,  to  cover  her  confusion  at  having  paid  him  a 
part  compliment,  she  replied : 

"I  said  'tolerably.' " 

He  laughed. 

"Alice,"  he  murmured,  "you  are  awfully  nice." 

"You  must  not  call  me  Alice,"  she  protested. 

He  mimicked  her  manner. 

"You  must  not  correct  me  so  much." 

They  both  laughed. 

"Alice,"  he  said,  "will  you  allow  me  to  kiss  you  ?" 

Some  quality  of  his  voice  or  eyes  or  both  went  to  her 
head.  She  seemed  suffused,  bathed  in  sweet  lassitude. 
Hardly  knowing  what  she  said,  she  answered : 

"I  do  not  know  whether  I  will  allow  you  to  kiss  me  or 
not.  But  I  am  quite  sure  that  whether  or  not  you  have 
my  permission,  you  are  going  to  kiss  me." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  49 

"You  are  adorable,"  he  said  in  an  earnest,  rhapsodical 
sort  of  way.  "If  we  were  not  on  the  street  I  would  kiss 
you  now." 

"Then  it  is  well  that  we  are  on  the  street." 

"Don't  be  cruel — don't  say  you're  glad  of  it." 

"I  didn't  say  I  was  glad  of  it.     But  I  am." 

He  caught  her  hand  in  his,  and  pressed  it. 

"No,  Alice,  you  are  not." 

"You  must  not  say  such  things  to  me.  Please  let  go 
my  hand." 

"Will  you  not  come  to  see  me  at  seven  o'clock  to- 
night? Here,  I  am  slipping  my  address  into  your 
muff." 

She  shook  it  out  of  her  muff,  as  if  the  card  meant  con- 
tamination.    It  fell  upon  the  pavement. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  throw  it  down,"  she  said  gently. 
"But  I  don't  want  the  address.  Release  my  hand, 
please." 

He  obeyed  her  and  picked  up  the  card. 

"Alice,"  he  said  earnestly,  "I  am  very  much  in  love 
with  you." 

"How  can  that  be?"  she  said  banteringly.  "You  have 
known  me  just  a  week." 

"Ask  yourself  how  such  things  are  possible.  You  are 
quite  as  much  in  love  with  me,  as  I  am  with  you." 

"I  am  not,"  she  said.  There  was  a  ring  of  defiance  in 
her  voice. 

"More  so,  perhaps,"  he  suggested  pleasantly.  "Is  that 
what  you  mean?" 

She  became  angry,  blindly  angry.  She  knew  he  spoke 
the  truth.  She  wanted  to  say  something  to  hurt  him 
bitterly,  but  she  could  think  of  nothing.  He  said  again  in 
the  same  low,  caressing  tone  as  before : 

"Alice,  will  you  come  and  see  me  at  seven?" 


50  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"No,  I  will  not.  You  must  understand,  Doctor  von 
Dette,  that  I  am  not  that  sort  of  girl." 

"What  sort  of  a  girl?"  he  demanded,  raising  his  eye- 
brows, as  if  not  understanding. 

"The  sort  of  girl  who  calls  on  a  man,"  she  said  limply. 
He  saw  that  he  was  gradually  undermining  her  self-pos- 
session. 

"I  really  cannot  see  why  you  should  feel  as  you  do 
about  it,"  he  said,  assuming  a  tone  that  was  all  innocence 
and  honey.  "If  you  should  decide  to  come,  we  shall  have 
a  nice  little  supper — no  wine,  of  course.  That  would  be 
improper  for  two  young  people  alone ;  and  after  supper  I 
will  show  you  my  cultures — they  really  are  beauties — and 
if  you  play,  you  will  be  good  enough  to  play  something 
for  me.  And  then  we  will  sit  and  talk  till  it  is  time  for 
you  to  go  home.     And  that  is  all — quite  all." 

She  lowered  her  head,  and  bringing  her  muff  up  to  her 
chin,  looked  at  him  searchingly.  He  thought  she  was  en- 
tirely grave  and  serious,  until  he  saw  a  quiver  of  sup- 
pressed merriment  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"And  are  you  quite  sure,  Doctor,  that  you  will  not  even 
kiss  me?" 

"Would  you  be  very  much  disappointed  if  I  didn't  ?" 

He  expected  her  to  show  blind  anger  as  before,  but  she 
merely  caught  her  breath,  closed  her  eyes  for  one  brief 
instant,  and  brought  her  teeth  together  with  a  sharp  click. 
He  wondered  whether  she  wished  that  she  had  his  shoul- 
der or  his  cheek  between  her  teeth.  She  was  probably 
a  good  deal  more  passionate  than  he  had  imagined. 

"Doctor  von  Dette,"  she  said  in  a  smooth  voice,  that 
set  every  fibre  in  him  vibrating,  "you  know  very  well, 
and  I  know  it,  too,  that  if  I  came  to  your  rooms  you 
would  kiss  me,  and  that  I  would  come  in  expectation 
of  your  kisses." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  51 

"Yes,  I  am  quite  sure  of  that,"  he  said  easily,  "but  if  I 
were  to  tell  you  all  I  am  sure  of,  you'd  be  very  angry,  I'm 
afraid." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  demanded,  indignant  again. 

"You  know  very  well  what  I  mean,"  he  replied  cryptic- 
ally. He  had  not  the  remotest  notion  himself  what  he 
meant.  But  phrases  such  as  these  he  had  always  found 
very  efficient;  very  useful  in  similar  cases.  To  worry 
and  torment  a  woman  until  she  does  not  know  in  what 
direction  to  turn,  until  weary  to  death  from  opposing  her 
will  against  the  man's,  she  succumbs  and  yields — that,  as 
he  knew,  was  the  best  policy  to  pursue. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said  coldly. 

He  lifted  his  hat. 

"Auf  Wiedersehen,"  he  said  amiably.  "Till  to-morrow 
morning." 

That  night  she  was  late  in  getting  to  bed.  Her  hand- 
embroidered  uniform  had  come  up  from  the  laundry,  and 
she  sat  for  upwards  of  an  hour  before  retiring,  thinking 
about  the  advisability  of  wearing  it.  Of  course  he  would 
know  that  she  had  put  it  on  especially  for  his  sake,  and 
so  would  everybody  else ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  she  felt 
very  much  more  at  ease  when  perfectly  costumed,  and 
she  expected  to  be  very  nervous  with  him  the  next  day. 
She  fell  asleep  finally,  having  decided  that  she  would  not 
wear  the  embroidered  gown,  and  feeling  quite  certain 
that  she  would. 

As  she  had  anticipated,  she  was  very  nervous  the  next 
day,  and  made  many  and  foolish  blunders,  each  one  of 
which  he  took  pleasure  in  pointing  out  to  her,  explaining 
the  error  in  a  half  pitying,  half  patient  way  that  exasper- 
ated her. 

When  they  were  through  with  the  work,  he  said  : 

"I  have  my  car  downstairs.     I  am  not  going  anywhere 


52  THE    GREATER    JOY 

in  particular  this  afternoon.  If  you  like,  we  can  go  for  a 
quick  spin  up  Riverside  Drive.  I  will  let  the  machine  go, 
and  we  can  be  back  by  one  o'clock.     What  say  you  ?" 

She  declined  politely  but  firmly. 

"Oh,  come  now,"  he  said  in  an  off-hand,  drawing-room 
manner,  "don't  be  foolish,  please.  What's  the  use  of  feel- 
ing like  this?  I'll  behave  myself,  I  will  really.  You 
must  admit  I've  been  admirable  this  morning." 

"Yes,  you  have." 

"There,  that's  nice  of  you,  Miss  Vaughn.  Please  don't 
refuse  to  come  with  me.  Don't  spoil  the  first  free  after- 
noon I've  had  in  a  month." 

It  was  really  a  shame  to  see  him  so  put  out,  but  she 
could  not  resist  parrying  a  while  longer.  It  was  so  sweet 
to  see  him  beg. 

"You're  a  very  dangerous  man,"  she  said. 

"Dangerous !  What  a  word !  Dangerous !  You  can't 
possibly  suppose  that  I  intend  kidnapping  you  for  the 
purpose  of  inoculating  you  with  leprosy  serum  or  making 
cultures  on  you !" 

He  was  irresistible.     She  could  not  help  laughing. 

"I  wish  you'd  stop  talking  about  your  silly  cultures." 

"Hush,  my  dear,"  he  said  in  a  paternal  way,  "the  cul- 
tures of  the  famous  Doctor  von  Dette  are  no  more  silly 
than  he  is." 

"Sometimes  I'm  afraid  the  famous  Doctor  von  Dette 
is  very  silly." 

"About  you,  Alice — only  about  you." 

"You  really  must  stop  calling  me  by  my  first  name." 

"You  can  revenge  yourself  easily.  My  first  name  is  Ul- 
rich." 

She  tried  not  to  smile. 

"I  really  think  you  had  better  go  without  me  to-day, 
Doctor." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  58 

"Alice,  please,  please  come.  Really,  my  dear,  you  will 
make  me  profoundly  unhappy  if  you  don't.  Look  here, 
don't  take  everything  I  say  so  seriously.  As  you  so  suc- 
cinctly remarked,  I  am  at  times,  rather  silly." 

She  was  beginning  to  thaw  visibly. 

"Alice,"  he  begged,  "why  waste  time  so  wantonly? 
Ten  minutes  gone  with  our  bickering." 

'Til  hurry,"  she  said. 

He  had  no  chauffeur  with  him  that  day.  He  had  a 
speedy  machine,  painted  white,  which  she  had  not  seen 
before,  and  he  "let  her  go,"  as  he  had  promised.  The 
touring  car  lurched  and  swung  and  rolled  onward  at  a 
pace  that  violated  all  speed  ordinances.  It  sent  the 
boisterous  April  wind  whizzing  about  their  ears  like  a 
buzz-saw. 

Alice  closed  her  eyes  and  gave  herself  over  to  the  de- 
light of  flying  along.  Presently  a  strange,  semi-somnam- 
bulent  feeling  came  over  her.  She  felt  as  if  she  were 
falling  asleep,  and  she  thought  that  it  must  be  very  sweet 
to  pillow  her  head  against  the  strong,  seal-skin  clad  shoul- 
der of  the  strong  man  beside  her.  She  seemed  to  lose 
track  of  time.  Suddenly  she  opened  her  eyes  with  a 
start.  They  were  flying  along  over  open  country,  the 
river  sparkling  to  the  left  like  a  diamond-strewn  silver 
shield.     She  exclaimed  in  surprise: 

"Where  are  we?" 

He  did  not  reply  to  her  question,  but  said : 

"Did  you  enjoy  your  nap?" 

"I  believe  I  did  have  a  nap — just  a  cat-nap.  Where 
are  we?" 

"Somewhere  near  Two-hundredth  street,  beyond  Uni- 
versity Heights." 

"What  time  is  it?"  she  cried  in  alarm.  "We  must  have 
been  out  over  an  hour." 


54  THE    GREATER    JOY 

He  assented. 

"I  am  sorry.  I  forgot  you  had  to  be  back  by  one.  I 
thought  you  were  asleep,  and  I  did  not  wish  to  waken  you 
by  turning  the  machine." 

"Please  turn  it  now." 

He  did  so  immediately.  They  had  the  wind  against 
them  now.  It  was  a  raw  April  day,  more  reminiscent  of 
February  than  prophetic  of  May,  and  the  wind  from  the 
river  cut  their  faces  like  sleet. 

He  slackened  the  speed. 

"Have  you  no  veil?"  he  asked. 

"No." 

There  was  a  queer  looking  little  house  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  off,  and  as  the  distance  diminished,  they  saw  that  it 
was  a  combination  pin  and  needle  and  grocery  store. 

"Perhaps  we  can  get  a  veil  for  you  there,"  he  said. 
"Your  face  will  be  cruelly  chapped  unless  you  put  some- 
thing over  it  to  protect  it." 

"I  have  no  money  with  me,"  she  said  in  an  awkward, 
subdued  way. 

He  did  not  reply,  but  she  saw  him  pull  out  a  bill.  She 
thought  he  was  going  to  hand  it  to  her,  and  she  intended 
thanking  him  for  lending  her  the  money.  But  he  did  not 
hand  it  to  her,  and  when  a  girl  of  fourteen  or  fifteen 
came  running  out  of  the  store  when  the  car  stopped,  he 
said  to  the  girl: 

"Have  you  any  veiling?" 

"Only  white  or  dark  blue." 

"Which  do  you  want,  Alice?"  he  asked  in  a  matter-of- 
fact  way,  and  she  felt  her  heart  give  a  queer  little  leap 
as  if  it  meant  to  jump  into  her  mouth,  for  the  tone  he  em- 
ployed was  the  tone  in  which  a  man  addresses  his  wife. 

"The  blue  will  do,"  she  replied,  trying  to  speak  smooth- 
ly.    When  the  girl  brought  the  veiling,  she  took  it  and 


THE    GREATER    JOY  55 

wound  it  about  her  head,  her  cheeks.  She  saw  him  slip 
the  change  into  his  pocket  without  looking  at  it,  and  sud- 
denly a  feeling  of  acute  terror  and  bewilderment  came 
over  her,  for  she  realized  his  mastery  of  her,  and  realized 
furthermore  than  she  liked  it.  And  then  she  remembered 
that  he  had  paid  for  the  veil,  and  that  she  had  accepted  it 
as  if  it  were  a  gift  and  not  a  loan.  This  troubled  her 
greatly,  but  try  as  she  would,  she  could  think  of  no  way 
in  which  to  tell  him  that  she  meant  to  reimburse  him. 
What  quality,  she  wondered,  was  it  that  reduced  her  to 
such  imbecility,  such  limpness  in  his  presence? 

The  veil  afforded  her  face  some  protection,  but  noli 
much,  and  the  wind  seemed  a  perfect  gale.  "I  am  sorry 
I  brought  you  so  far,"  he  said  once.  "I  hope  you  will  not 
take  cold.  I  should  reproach  myself  utterly  if  you  were 
to  fall  ill." 

"I  sha'n't  take  cold,"  she  said.  "It's  only  my  face  that 
bothers  me." 

"Try  and  put  your  head  back  of  my  shoulder,"  he  said. 
He  tilted  forward  a  little.     "Try." 

"No,  no,"  she  said. 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Alice,"  he  said.  "There  is  no  one 
here  to  see,  and  if  there  were,  we  are  going  along  so 
quickly  that  no  one  could  possibly  recognize  us." 

She  held  out  for  another  minute,  but  the  wind  seemed 
to  be  splitting  her  skin,  to  be  flaying  her.  With  a  quick 
little  gesture,  she  placed  her  head  where  he  had  indicated, 
and  was  amazed  at  the  warmth  which  she  obtained  from 
his  coat. 

"How  deliciously  warm  that  fur  is!"  she  said. 

"Do  you  like  sealskin  ?" 

"Yes,  I  love  it.  I  think  there  is  no  fur  more  beauti- 
ful." 

She  lifted  her  face.     She  could  not  take  her  eyes  off 


56  THE    GREATER    JOY 

the  beautiful  sealskin.  The  wind,  blowing  roughly 
against  it,  made  little  ripples  in  the  fur,  revealing  the 
length  and  fineness  and  exquisite  shading  of  the  individ- 
ual hairs. 

"Alice,  will  you  allow  me  to  give  you  a  sealskin  coat?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"Why  not?" 

"Oh,  for  one  thing,"  she  replied  banteringly,  "it's  the 
end  of  the  season.  Summer  will  be  here  in  a  month. 
May  with  us  means  the  coolest  muslins  we  can  get." 

"Have  you  then  no  cold  storage  in  New  York  ?" 

She  ignored  this. 

"Oh,"  she  continued,  "it  will  be  old-fashioned  next 
year." 

"Only  negligibly  so,"  he  replied  seriously.  "Styles 
change  very  little  in  fur  garments.  I  should  dearly  love 
to  give  you  a  sealskin  coat  to  remember  me  by  when  I  am 
gone." 

She  gave  him  a  frightened  little  look,  which,  although 
he  was  not  looking  at  her,  he  perceived  with  joy. 

"Won't  you,  dear?" 

"No,  no.     It's  quite  out  of  the  question,  Doctor." 

"As  an  appreciation  of  the  work  you  did  for  me?" 

"The  hospital  pays  for  my  services.  You  are  indebted 
to  the  hospital,  not  to  me." 

"That's  all  very  well.  But  you've  made  things  very 
pleasant  for  me.  Look  here,  you'd  let  me  send  you 
flowers,  wouldn't  you  ?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"And  candy?" 

"Yes." 

"That's  fortunate.  I've  just  sent  you  a  five-pound  box 
of  chocolates." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  57 

"I  love  them.     Thank  you  so  much." 

"Now  I  could  easily  spend  quite  as  much  as  a  sealskin 
coat  would  come  to  for  flowers  and  candy  within  a  month, 
and  according  to  your  own  admission,  you  would  think  it 
proper.     Then  why  not  the  coat?" 

"Oh,"  she  replied  wearily,  "the  one  is  proper  and  the 
other  isn't.     That's  all." 

"Don't  you  think  that  for  a  brainy  woman  your  reason- 
ing in  this  instance  is  very  poor?" 

"If  I'm  to  argue  with  you,"  she  said,  "I  shall  have  to 
first  warm  my  poor  brains  against  your  shoulder.  The 
wind  is  evaporating  them." 

"Go  ahead." 

But  she  merely  held  her  muff  before  her  face  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  said  triumphantly : 

"I'll  tell  you  why  convention  allows  a  woman  to  accept 
flowers  and  sweetmeats  from  a  man,  and  not  clothes. 
Luxuries,  flowers,  etc.,  make  life  pleasant,  but  we  can  get 
along  without  them.  After  all,  to  accept  luxuries  from 
any  one  means  a  trifling  obligation  only.  But  for  a 
woman  to  be  indebted  to  a  man  for  the  necessities  of  life 
would  be  intolerable." 

"Unless  she  loved  him,"  he  said  quietly,  and  turned  and 
looked  at  her.  "Also,  I  perceive  I  had  an  erroneous  no- 
tion in  my  head,  in  classing  sealskin  coats  as  luxuries. 
You  tell  me  they  are  necessities.  Would  a  day  laborer, 
earning  nine  dollars  a  week,  I  wonder,  agree  with  you  ?" 

She  laughed.  The  wind  was  a  legitimate  excuse  for 
not  continuing  the  argument.  The  outskirts  of  the  city 
were  springing  up  on  either  side  of  them.  The  sky  line 
across  the  river  showed  ocean-going  vessels  and  ferry 
boats.  To  the  other  side,  sky-scraping  apartment  houses 
reared  themselves  in  towering  isolation. 


58  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"It  will  be  long  after  two  when  we  get  back  to  the  hos- 
pital," he  said.  "Couldn't  I  telephone,  and  make  some 
excuse,  so  we  can  get  something  to  eat  together?" 

"I  don't  think  I  ought  to  lunch  with  you,  Doctor." 

"Please  do.  Just  a  bite.  You  must  be  famished.  I 
am.  If  you  refuse,  I  shall  think  you  are  angry  because 
of  the  sealskin  coat." 

"Don't  think  that.  I've  forgotten  about  it.  But  I  can- 
not lunch  with  you.  For  one  thing,  I  am  not  dressed  for 
a  restaurant.     I  am  in  uniform." 

She  was  frightened  after  she  had  spoken,  fearing  he 
might  renew  his  solicitations  to  have  her  come  to  his 
rooms,  under  the  pretext  of  lunching  there.  But  Ulrich 
von  Dette  was  much  too  clever  to  avail  himself  of  so 
direct  an  opening,  or  to  put  himself  in  the  wrong  by  tac- 
itly admitting  that  he  had  not  observed  whether  she  was 
properly  gowned  or  not.     He  said : 

"Your  uniform  is  very  charming.  And  it  looks  more 
like  a  simply  made  summer  gown  than  a  uniform  because 
of  the  embroidered  collar  and  cuffs.  You  must  have 
bought  the  embroidery  in  France." 

"No.     I  did  the  embroidery  myself." 

"Really  ?  Think  of  it !  I  imagined  you  incapable  of 
so  purely  feminine  an  occupation  as  embroidery." 

In  her  delight  at  his  having  thought  of  her  so  circum- 
stantially, she  did  not  resent  the  injustice  he  had  done 
her.     She  said : 

"Do  I  seem  so  very  unfeminine  to  you?" 

"No,  of  course  not,"  craftily  he  feigned  hesitation.  "A 
little  too  insistently  brainy,  that  is  all." 

She  did  not  reply,  but  this  imputation  she  resented,  for 
she  knew  that  she  made  no  pretensions  to  braininess,  and 
that  it  was  he,  and  not  she,  who  was  continually  harping 
upon  it.     But  she  had  little  time  to  nurse  her  injury,  for 


THE    GREATER    JOY  59 

he  had  stopped  at  a  telephone  station,  and  made  her  come 
into  the  store  with  him  to  superintend  the  message. 

"Whom  shall  I  ask  for,  Doctor  Etheridge  or  that  bear 
of  a  head-nurse?" 

"Ask  for  Doctor  Etheridge,  and  if  he  is  not  there,  ask 
for  Miss  Bell.  And  I  hope  to  goodness  he  is  out,  for 
the  bear  of  a  head-nurse,  as  you  call  her,  will  be  much 
nicer  about  it  than  he." 

"What  shall  I  say  ?  That  I  took  you  up  home  to  show 
you  some  cultures,  and  my  cousin  kept  you  for  lunch?" 

"No.     Please  tell  the  truth." 

"Your  New  England  conscience  is  a  very  obstreperous 
instrument,  I  am  afraid,  if  it  balks  at  so  trifling  a  fib  as 
the  one  I  proposed." 

"It  isn't  my  New  England  conscience  at  all,"  she  re- 
torted with  spirit,  "but  my  New  York  common-sense, 
which  tells  me  there  is  no  rhyme  or  reason  in  concocting 
a  falsehood  when  the  truth  will  serve  as  well." 

After  she  had  spoken  she  was  amazed  at  her  lack  of 
single-mindedness,  and  she  became  troubled.  For  the 
second  time  since  she  knew  him,  it  seemed  that  some 
woman  whom  she  did  not  know,  who  was  a  stranger  to 
her,  had  invaded  her  soul  and  was  sharing  it  with  her, 
and  was  using  her  lips  as  a  mouthpiece  to  enunciate 
things  which  she  herself  had  no  intention  whatever  of 
saying. 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  and  he  was  sincere  for  once, 
"you  are  really  an  uncommonly  clever  woman."  And 
while  he  held  the  receiver  to  his  ear,  waiting  for  the  con- 
nection, he  reflected  that  it  would  be  a  good  deal  more 
difficult  to  win  her  than  he  had  expected.  She  was  so 
damnably  clear-headed. 

They  lunched  in  the  grill-room  of  the  Knickerbocker, 


60  THE    GREATER    JOY 

and  as  she  left  the  selection  to  him,  he  chose  terrapin 
ragout  and  brook  trout  fried  in  olive  oil.  To  evince 
his  hospitable  intentions,  he  asked  her,  as  a  matter  of 
form,  whether  she  cared  for  a  cocktail  or  wine,  and  ac- 
cepted her  "neither"  without  comment.  She  liked  him 
for  the  unobtrusive  way  in  which  he  allowed  the  episode 
to  slip  away.  She  thought  it  showed  his  breeding,  which 
was  so  conspicuous  a  factor  in  his  make-up,  to  mag- 
nificent advantage. 

She  looked  at  him,  her  admiration  as  plainly  legible  in 
her  eyes  as  a  visiting  card  is  visible  on  a  silver  salver. 
She  recollected  herself,  and  removed  her  gaze. 

A  woman  wearing  bizarre  curls  over  her  ears,  and  gro- 
tesquely attired,  entered  with  two  men,  and  everybody 
stared. 

"An  actress  ?"  she  murmured. 

"Undoubtedly  she  poses  as  such/'  he  said  dryly.  Then 
he  leaned  forward,  and  his  whole  manner,  his  eyes,  his 
extended  hands,  with  their  palpable,  trembling  shadows 
of  dark  hair,  lying  clasped  upon  the  table,  seemed  to  say, 
"Let  us  not  think  of  any  one  but  ourselves." 

But  his  eyes,  with  the  strange  rivulets  of  light  inun- 
dating them,  troubled  her  exceedingly.  She  remembered 
how  her  face  had  lain  against  his  shoulder  in  the  auto- 
mobile, and  she  reflected  that,  side  by  side  with  him,  she 
had  not  seemed  so  close  to  him  as  now,  when  they  were 
sitting  on  opposite  sides  of  the  table,  with  his  eyes  pierc- 
ing hers. 

The  waiter  came  and  spoke  to  him  a  few  times,  and 
brought  them  bread  and  butter  and  helped  them  to  water, 
and  von  Dette  pointed  out  to  her  the  mural  decorations 
which  he  said  were  worth  looking  at.  But  it  seemed  to 
her  as  if  there  were  a  great  deal  of  hustle  and  confusion 


THE    GREATER    JOY  61 

about  them,  and  as  if  it  were  impossible  to  enter  into  a 
real  conversation. 

But  she  felt  a  strange,  inexplicable  sensation  of  phys- 
ical nearness  to  him,  as  if  his  arms  were  about  her,  or 
as  if  his  lips  had  touched  her  cheek,  and  she  wondered 
whether  it  was  a  feeling  of  this  sort  that  made  him  ask 
to  kiss  her.  She  became  a  little  dizzy.  Besides  this,  her 
face  was  burning  horribly  from  the  wind,  and  she  was 
afraid  she  looked  frightful. 

"My  face  is  crimson,  I  am  sure." 

"Is  it  painful?" 

"Rather." 

He  drew  a  small  phial  from  his  pocket  and  handed  it 
to  her.     It  contained  a  milky  fluid. 

"It's  a  harmless  face  lotion,"  he  explained.  "Pour  a 
little  over  the  corner  of  your  handkerchief,  and  moisten 
your  face  with  it.     No  one  will  notice  it." 

"What  a  remarkable  thing  for  a  man  to  carry !" 

Bowing  formally,  he  answered: 

"I  carry  it  solely  for  the  use  of  my  friends." 

His  words  aroused  an  unaccountable  resentment  in  her, 
and  she  felt  a  sudden  desire  to  snub  him.  But  she  said 
nothing.  With  smiling  face  and  anger  in  her  heart,  she 
listened  to  his  conversation. 

The  food  was  brought.  But  although  the  terrapin 
was  delicious,  she  did  not  enjoy  it.  The  wind  and  the 
ride  had  made  her  very  tired,  and  she  still  seemed  to  feel 
the  rocking  motion  of  the  car,  she  still  seemed  to  feel 
her  face  against  his  shoulder.  Her  color  had  died 
away  at  last,  and  she  was  so  tired  that  she  knew  there 
must  be  deep  circles  under  her  eyes. 

"Are  you  very  tired,  Alice  ?" 

"Desperately." 


62  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Can  you  lie  down  and  take  a  nap  when  you  get  back 
to  the  hospital  ?" 

"I  can  hardly  do  that.  I  think  I  will  be  in  time  for 
Doctor  Etheridge's  lecture.  He  is  very  particular  to  have 
no  medical  student  absent  without  sufficient  reason." 

Her  voice  sounded  weary  and  fagged,  and  he  noted 
with  joy  unutterable  that  she  spoke  of  attending  the  lec- 
ture as  of  a  duty  to  be  performed,  not  of  a  pleasure  to  be 
enjoyed.  "The  poison  is  beginning  to  work,"  he 
thought. 

As  they  passed  through  the  lobby  of  the  hotel,  she 
glanced  at  the  dim  recess  of  a  curtained-off  corner. 

"How  inviting  those  chairs  look,"  she  remarked. 

"Let  us  sit  here  quietly  for  a  few  moments." 

She  acquiesced  immediately.  When  they  were  seated 
he  said  impulsively:  "Alice,  won't  you  come  to  my 
rooms,  dear?  Now,  don't  be  angry,  sweetheart, 
but " 

"Doctor  von  Dette,"  she  interrupted  him,  "it  is  bad 
enough  to  have  you  call  me  by  my  first  name,  but  I 
positively  forbid  you  to  call  me  sweetheart." 

"I  will  call  you  sweetheart,  nevertheless.  Two  days 
ago  you  forbade  me  to  call  you  Alice.  To-day  you  allow 
it.  A  week  hence  you  will  be  quite  willing  to  have  me 
say  'sweetheart/  Yes,  you  will.  My  calling  you  'sweet- 
heart' does  not  make  you  my  sweetheart,  does  it?  Al- 
though I  wish  it  did,"  he  added  under  his  breath. 

She  sighed  wearily.  The  incessant  vigilance  of  this 
man  was  beginning  to  weary  her  inutterably.  It  brought 
to  her  mind  a  short  story  of  Jack  London's  she  had  read, 
in  which  a  wolf  and  a  man,  both  dying  of  starvation, 
dragged  themselves  over  miles  and  miles  of  desolate 
country,  both  in  the  hope  that  the  other  would  relax  his 


THE    GREATER    JOY  63 

vigilance  and  give  himself  a  chance  to  kill,  and  after  kill- 
ing, to  eat,  and  by  eating  to  restore  his  own  depleted 
energies. 

To  her  excited  imagination  it  suddenly  seemed  that 
this  man  at  her  side,  so  well-groomed,  so  attentive,  so 
high-bred,  so  charming,  so  witty,  was  nevertheless  a 
beast  of  prey,  waiting  only  to  see  her  stumble  and  hesi- 
tate, to  relax  her  attention,  so  that  he,  too,  might  strike — 
after  his  fashion.  The  only  wonder  was  that  she  did 
not  hate  him,  and  yet,  strange  to  say,  she  did  not.  But 
she  decided  suddenly  that  she  would  never  accept  the 
least  attention  from  him  again. 

He  seemed  to  read  her  thoughts,  for  he  said: 

"Alice,  don't  be  angry  with  me ;  you  look  so  wretchedly 
fagged,  and  I  reproach  myself  so  bitterly  for  taking  you 
on  that  cold  drive.  Come  to  my  rooms.  You  can  lie 
down  quietly;  nothing  and  nobody  will  disturb  you.  I 
have  a  large,  broad  leather  couch,  as  comfortable  as  the 
softest  bed,  and  I  will  cover  you  with  a  lovely,  hand- 
knitted  Afghan  of  Angora  wool,  and  then  I  will  draw  the 
shades,  and  then,  if  you  will  permit  it,  I  will  kiss  your 
hand,  and  if  you  will  not  permit  that,  I  will  kiss  your 
sleeve,  your  slipper,  and  then  you  will  sleep,  and  when 
you  awake,  you  will  have  a  cup  of  tea  before  I  drive  you 
home.    Yes  ?" 

"No,  no,"  she  said  almost  roughly.  She  felt  as  if  she 
were  protecting  herself  against  a  physical  assault.  The 
softness,  the  ingratiating  quality  of  his  voice,  was  almost 
more  than  her  tortured  nerves  could  bear.  And  then  the 
horrible  sensation  of  physical  nearness  to  him  which  had 
not  left  her  for  a  moment  since  they  had  sat  down  at 
table  together.  "No,  no,"  she  repeated  more  feebly,  as 
he  continued  to  gaze  at  her. 


64  THE    GREATER    JOY 

He  persisted. 

"Come,  Alice,  come  and  pay  your  first  call  to-day — 
now." 

"No—  Ulrich." 

She  added  his  name,  using  it  for  the  first  time,  in  full 
cognizance  of  what  she  was  doing.  But  it  seemed  to 
have  been  forced  from  her.  She  had  not  wanted  to  say 
"Ulrich/'  but  she  had  said  it. 

"Alice,  sweetheart " 

"Please,  please,  don't  ask  me  again."  Her  eyes  filled 
with  tears,  which  did  not  fall,  but  hung  betwixt  cheek 
and  eyelid,  like  dewdrops,  he  thought,  between  blades  of 
grass,  where  the  growth  is  heavy. 

Something  like  pity  stirred  in  him.  He  saw  her  ter- 
ror, her  vain,  pitiful  striving  to  control  herself.  He 
knew  that  it  rested  with  him  solely  whether  she  would 
lie  in  his  arms  within  the  hour  or  not.  Was  pity  then 
stronger  than  passion?  He  had  never  found  it  to  be  so 
before.  Yet  it  was  beyond  his  power  to  take  advantage 
of  her  at  this  moment.  She  would  hate  him  for  it.  Per- 
haps, strange  though  it  seemed,  he  would  hate  himself. 
She  seemed  such  a  young,  helpless,  babyish  thing  to  take 
her  thus  to  his  rooms. 

To  check  his  own  nervousness,  he  arose  and  looked  at 
the  clock.  It  was  almost  four.  If  she  came  home  with 
him,  it  would  be  seven  at  least  before  she  could  get  back 
to  the  hospital,  and  then  her  agitation  and  the  unusual 
hour  would  probably  betray  her.  So  it  was  settled  for 
him,  and  to  his  surprise,  he  found  that  this  consideration, 
which  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  take  her  to  his 
rooms,  relieved  his  mind  enormously. 

He  must  prepare  her  a  while  longer.  He  could  not 
bear  the  thought  that  she  should  learn  to  hate  him.  It 
was  the  first  time  that  any  thought  of  this  kind  had  de- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  65 

terred  him  from  rushing  headlong  to  his  pleasure.  Was 
it  then  possible  that  he  was  actually  falling  in  love  with 
this  girl?  Was  his  love  for  her  something  sweeter, 
holier  than  he  had  ever  experienced  before? 

Holier  ?  Could  love  between  man  and  woman  ever  be 
holy  or  sacred?  He  doubted  it.  To  his  mind,  love  be- 
tween the  sexes  was  purely  earthy  and  of  the  earth. 
And  yet — there  sat  the  girl  whom  he  desired  as  fully,  if 
not  more  poignantly,  than  he  had  ever  desired  a  woman, 
and  he  was  not  pressing  to  the  uttermost  the  advantage 
he  had  won.     It  was  very  puzzling. 

He  turned  to  look  at  the  object  that  had  brought  about 
this  queer  state  of  mind.  He  felt  a  sudden  wish  to  re- 
gard her  impartially,  with  curiosity  and  intelligence  un- 
hampered by  the  emotions.  She  sat  where  she  had  sat 
before,  her  cheek  resting  lightly  upon  one  small  gloved 
hand.  Her  tears  had  fallen  at  last ;  they  were  thick  and 
heavy  like  a  child's,  and  midway  down  her  cheek  their 
course  had  been  checked. 

"Gad,"  he  muttered.  "She  is  beautiful!"  His  right 
hand  sought  his  throat,  fumbled  at  his  collar,  as  if  to 
give  him  air,  compromised  finally  upon  caressing  his  chin, 
while  his  elbow  rested  in  the  palm  of  his  other  hand. 

"She  might  serve  as  a  model  for  an  angel  weeping," 
he  thought.  Other  women,  indulging  immoderately  in 
tears,  became  repulsive  or  ludicrous,  but  she,  weeping 
modestly,  unobtrusively,  was  adorable  and  perfect  as 
always. 

Undoubtedly  it  would  be  an  act  of  vandalism  to  follow 
up  his  advantage  now.  Who  would  tear  open  a  rose-bud 
forcefully,  in  order  to  prematurely  produce  a  rose?  A 
ruined  bud,  a  blighted  flower,  would  be  the  upshot.  The 
wise  man,  the  poet,  would  be  content  to  wait,  saying,  "In 
a  little  while  the  sun  and  the  rain  and  the  wind  will  coax 


66  THE    GREATER    JOY 

the  bud  to  open  by  itself,  and  by  itself  to  reveal  its  full 
splendor  as  a  mature  rose."  Meanwhile,  how  sweet  was 
the  bud ! 

How  now  to  relieve  the  situation?  He  came  and  sat 
down  opposite  to  her. 

"Alice,"  he  said  soothingly,  "you  may  not  know  it,  but 
a  man's  shoulder  is  admirably  adapted  for  a  good  cry. 
May  I  offer  you  mine?" 

"I've  not  been  crying,"  she  said,  with  a  little  sniffle. 

"No?"  He  carefully  dried  her  face  with  his  handker- 
chief.    She  offered  no  protest. 

"What  are  these?"  he  asked,  "if  not  tears?" 

"My  eyes  may  have  watered  a  bit,  from  the  wind,"  she 
answered. 

"I  see,"  he  retorted.  "Do  you  want  to  go  home,  dear 
—to  the  hospital  ?" 

She  arose,  without  a  word,  and  as  they  walked  through 
the  lobby  together,  she  slipped  her  hand  through  his  arm. 

Surprised  and  pleased,  he  looked  down  at  her. 

"It's  only  because  of  the  soft  sealskin,"  she  said 
roguishly. 

"Happy  sealskin,"  he  sighed  comically.  Together  they 
passed  out  into  the  street. 

That  evening,  as  Ulrich  sat  smoking  his  cigarettes  be- 
fore retiring,  he  found  to  his  relief  that,  away  from  the 
spell  of  her  personality,  his  cynicism  had  returned  to  him 
in  large  measure. 

"To-morrow,"  he  promised  himself,  "I  shall  employ 
more  flesh-tints.  To-morrow  I  shall  tighten  the  thumb- 
screws." 

But  he  did  not  relish  the  thought  of  applying  the 
thumbscrews.  His  cynicism  was  not  as  firm  as  he  would 
have  liked  it  to  be. 


CHAPTER  IV 

When  Ulrich  entered  the  library  the  next  morning,  he 
enveloped  Alice  in  a  look  that  no  woman  could  misunder- 
stand. Yet  he  greeted  her  with  politeness,  and  evinced 
his  desire  to  get  to  work  at  once.  There  was  an  aloof- 
ness, a  detachedness  about  him  that  seemed  to  signify 
utter  indifference,  and  but  for  the  glints  of  light  that 
came  into  his  eyes  whenever  they  alighted  upon  her,  he 
in  no  way  showed  the  faintest  interest  in  her. 

She  had  braced  herself,  before  coming  to  the  library, 
against  any  allurements  and  blandishments  with  which 
he  might  renew  his  attempts.  She  had  spent  a  miserable 
night  of  self-loathing  and  abasement,  following  one  of 
those  revulsions  of  feeling  from  which  those  in  love  are 
never  exempt.  She  had  made  a  dozen  laudable  resolu- 
tions, and  because  she  had  expected  to  find  opposition, 
immediate  and  strong,  levelled  against  her  determination, 
his  coldness  and  reserve  and  apparent  indifference  were 
a  worse  shock  to  her  nerves  than  would  have  been  the 
most  impassioned  wooing. 

When  they  had  finished,  he  began,  in  the  tone  of  an 
utter  stranger,  complimenting  her  upon  her  ability,  her 
cleverness.  And  he  addressed  her  respectfully  as  "Miss 
Vaughn."  She  thanked  him  coldly.  She  had  desired 
him  to  abstain  from  use  of  her  Christian  name,  but  now 
that  he  complied  with  her  wish,  she  was  mortified  beyond 
measure.  His  tribute  to  her  intellect  also  annoyed  and 
angered  her  unaccountably.  His  whole  manner  filled  her 
with  resentment. 

67 


68  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"But  in  spite  of  your  braininess,"  he  continued,  speak- 
ing in  the  languid,  lazy  tone  which  was  habitual  with 
him,  excepting  when  he  spoke  with  brother-savants  or 
with  her,  "you  should  abandon  nursing.  You  are  too 
good  looking  to  come  into  continual  contact  with  sick- 
ness and  death." 

She  remembered  a  similar  remark  made  by  the  Baron- 
ess. 

"No  one  is  too  good  looking  to  alleviate  suffering," 
she  replied,  falling  in  with  the  distant  manner  which  he 
employed. 

"Very  prettily  answered,  and  to  be  expected,  since  you 
are  an  Anglo-Saxon.  But  I  am  a  Continental,  and  the 
continental  code  says  that  pretty  women  shall  enjoy — 
and  be  enjoyed." 

Alice  said  nothing.  The  blood  was  beating  violently 
in  her  temples.  Oh,  she  should  have  hated  him,  hated 
him,  as  she  should  have  hated  him  before,  but  she  could 
muster  no  hatred  to  hurl  against  him.     He  spoke  again. 

"Why,"  he  asked,  "did  you  think  that  I  meant  that? 
Beautiful  women  are  enjoyed  in  many  ways  besides  the 
original  brutal  one.  Their  beauty  is  an  embellishment 
upon  a  bleak  world.  A  truly  beautiful  woman  is  -a 
greater  masterpiece  than  the  finest  achievement  in  paint- 
ing or  music  or  literature.  And,  like  a  masterpiece  of 
art,  she  stimulates  the  most  extravagant  enthusiasm  in 
the  connoisseur.  A  homely  woman  has  an  excuse  for  cul- 
tivating her  brain,  in  desiring  to  attain  mental  distinc- 
tion. She  cannot  conquer  men,  so  she  will  compete  with 
them.  Very  good.  But  a  beautiful  woman  lacks  the 
one  valid  excuse.  Physical  vanity  is  the  normal  emo- 
tion of  women,  mental  vanity  of  men,  and  the  woman 
who  arrogates  mental  vanity  to  herself  is  as  great  a  mon- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  69 

strosity  as  a  man  who  cultivates  physical  vanity  is  an  ab- 
surdity. 

"That,"  he  went  on,  "is  the  eternal  difference,  insur- 
mountable and  abiding",  between  the  sexes.  The  one 
should  excel  in  beauty,  the  other  in  strength,  for  in  these 
latter  days,  brains  and  strength  are,  if  not  synonymous 
terms,  at  least  levers  of  synonymous  possibilities.  There- 
fore, the  wisest  man  in  the  world  can  be  fascinated  by 
the  most  stupid  of  women,  so  long  as  she  is  lovely  to  look 
at,  and  conversely,  the  most  beautiful  woman  can  be  sub- 
jugated by  the  most  repulsive  of  men,  so  he  be  endowed 
with  exceptional  strength  or  exceptional  cleverness." 

He  spoke  in  his  usual  languid  way,  his  eyes  sending 
forth  their  strange  flashes  of  flame  which  seemed  to  stab 
her  flesh,  his  voice  exuding  fine  tendrils  of  emotion, 
which,  like  tangible  filaments,  enmeshed  and  caressed 
and  wrapped  themselves  about  her  senses. 

He  leaned  across  the  table,  and  laid  his  hand  beside 
hers,  without  touching  it.  She  experienced  a  sensation 
of  suffocation.  She  thought  of  flight,  but  a  feeling  of 
weakness,  which  she  could  not  overcome,  made  flight 
impossible. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  he  said  tenderly.  He  spoke  in  low, 
even  tones,  but  there  was  a  curious  tremolo  in  his  voice 
that  she  had  never  noted  before,  and  to  which  every 
nerve  in  her  body  responded.  "I  shall  not  kiss  you.  I 
shall  not  even  touch  you,  for  if  I  did,  it  would  be  too 
much  or  not  enough."  Suddenly  his  voice  broke,  became 
thick  and  hoarse.  They  were  aliens  no  longer.  Their 
footing  of  the  day  before  was  more  than  restored.  "I 
love  you,  Alice,"  he  cried  passionately,  "I  have  only 
known  you  a  week.  Can  you,  who  are  innocent  of  all 
knowledge,  who  never  tasted  the  joys  of  love,  realize 


70  THE    GREATER    JOY 

what  violence  I  have  been  doing  myself  all  week — yes- 
terday, to-day — in  sitting  beside  you,  stupidly  inactive, 
instead  of  crushing  you  in  my  arms,  and  making  you  re- 
spond ?" 

"I  wouldn't  respond,"  she  flung  out  desperately,  but 
she  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

He  laughed.  "Do  not  dare  me,"  he  said.  "Do  not 
speak  again.  I  am  a  different  man  to-day  than  you  have 
yet  seen.  Your  voice  intoxicates  me,  your  eyes  make  me 
delirious,  and  your  hair  is  like  the  strands  of  a  spider's 
web — fine  as  silk,  apparently  as  easily  broken,  yet  in 
truth  a  net  of  incredible  strength,  of  insidious  possibili- 
ties— capable  of  strangling  a  man,  of  God  knows  what 
else." 

"You  are  mad!" 

"Who  wouldn't  be?"  he  retorted  with  spirit.  His 
voice  lost  its  harshness,  became  liquid  and  caressing.  It 
seemed  to  the  girl  that  he  must  be  kissing  the  words  be- 
fore emitting  them,  they  were  so  soft,  so  smooth,  so  se- 
ductive. He  took  her  hand.  "Alice,  you  are  the  love- 
liest woman  I  have  ever  seen,  and  I  love  you,  I  want  you, 
I  desire  you." 

She  put  up  her  hand  as  if  to  wave  away  the  words  that 
sounded  to  her  like  a  magician's  invocation.  Quick  as 
lightning,  he  shot  both  of  his  hands  over  to  her.  She 
thought  that  he  would  at  last  take  her  in  his  arms  and 
kiss  her.  The  thought  terrified  and  yet  delighted  her. 
She  did  not  move.  He  seemed  to  paralyze  alike  her  voli- 
tion and  her  muscles.  But  when  his  hands  were  within 
half  an  inch  of  her,  he  drew  them  back  quickly. 

"I  have  promised,"  he  said,  "not  to  touch  you." 

He  spoke  as  a  man  who  makes  a  supreme  effort,  and 
there  had  entered  into  his  voice,  which  had  regained  it's 
liquid  clearness,  an  element  akin  to  the  flame  in  his  eye. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  71 

"You  said  I  was  a  dangerous  man  the  other  day,"  he 
said.     "It  is  true — to-day  I  am  very  dangerous." 

Alice  spent  a  miserable  afternoon.  He  had  succeeded 
in  doing  what  he  wanted  to  do.  He  had  completely 
checkmated  her.  The  display  of  inordinate  passion  he 
had  made  flattered  her  vanity,  and  the  apparent  self-con- 
trol he  had  exercised  in  banishing  his  passion  gave  her  a 
high  notion  of  the  regard  he  entertained  for  her  virtue. 
Both  were  as  he  had  intended.  Nevertheless,  she  was 
more  alarmed  than  she  had  been  at  any  time  since  their 
acquaintance  began. 

"Is  it  possible,"  she  thought,  "that  I  do  not  trust  my- 
self?" 

The  thought  occurred  to  her  of  feigning  indisposition 
the  next  day,  so  as  to  avoid  him,  but  when  morning  came^ 
after  a  troubled  night,  she  concluded  that  to  do  so  would 
be  to  declare  herself  vanquished.  Her  pride  rebelled. 
She  would  meet  him,  and  show  she  was  perfectly  self- 
possessed.  She  would  look  at  his  well-manicured  fin- 
gers, and  his  hand  with  its  penumbra  of  black  hair,  and 
then  she  would  hate  him.  His  hands  were  beautiful,  but 
she  did  not  like  them.  Yes,  she  would  hate  him.  She 
would  always  remember  to  look  at  his  hands  when  she 
felt  that  love  was  getting  the  better  of  her. 

Pale,  weary,  trembling  with  the  strange,  new  sensa- 
tion, she  presented  herself  in  the  library  at  the  accus- 
tomed hour. 

Von  Dette  was  there  alone.  She  had  hoped,  and 
again  she  had  feared,  that  some  one  else  might  be  there. 
She  was  surprised  that  she  felt  a  sensation  of  relief  on 
finding  only  him.  Was  it  possible  that  she  longed  for  a 
continuation  of  the  adventure? 

He  did  not  speak  as  she  entered,  but  raised  his  eyes 
from  the  book  he  was  reading,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that 


72  THE    GREATER    JOY 

they  gleamed  phosphorescently.  Some  of  his  icy  reserve 
was  gone.  The  volcano  was  nearer  the  surface,  still  in 
leash,  it  is  true,  but  very  apparent. 

He  did  not  reply  to  her  "good  morning,"  but  motioned 
to  her  to  take  a  chair.  To  her  surprise  she  became 
more  tranquil  on  seeing  his  emotion.  His  agitation  had 
dispelled  her  own. 

They  worked  in  silence  for  an  hour.  Suddenly,  as  she 
leaned  forward  to  arrange  some  papers,  she  caught  sight 
of  his  waxen,  ridiculously  white  fingers,  the  pulpy  white 
hand  with  its  covering  of  black  hair.  She  had  forgotten 
her  intention  not  to  lose  sight  of  his  hands,  that  she 
might  loathe  him.  But  when  suddenly  confronted  by 
them,  she  experienced  none  of  the  hostility  which  she  had 
made  herself  believe  they  would  induce  in  her.  Instead, 
a  torrential  wave  of  emotion  swept  over  her  with  incon- 
ceivable swiftness.  She  hated  him  at  that  moment, 
but  it  was  not  the  kind  of  hatred  she  had  wished  to 
feel. 

Once,  through  a  defective  fountain  pen,  he  stained  his 
fingers  with  ink.  He  excused  himself,  and  washed  his 
hands  in  the  wash  basin  in  a  corner  of  the  room.  When 
he  returned,  he  was  still  rubbing  his  hands,  one  with  the 
other.  He  stood  before  her,  regarding  her  fixedly, 
whether  deliberately  or  abstractedly,  she  could  not  say, 
and  all  the  while  he  rubbed  his  hands  together  vigor- 
ously, to  keep  them  from  chapping.  There  was  a  pecu- 
liar, self-satisfied  smile  on  his  lips,  in  which  there  lurked 
something  of  cruelty  or  triumph,  or  both.  A  nameless 
terror  came  racing  over  her.  She  looked  away  from 
him,  and  attempted  to  fix  her  attention  on  a  book,  but 
though  she  sought  to  keep  her  eyes  away  from  his  cynical 
smile,  they  were  drawn  back  in  some  strange  way,  as  if 
some  unseen  hand  were  lifting  her  head,  and  tilting  it 


THE    GREATER    JOY  73 

back,  and  drawing  the  very  vision  out  of  her  eyes  in  a 
direction  contrary  to  that  in  which  she  chose  to  look. 
He  stood  there  in  the  same  attitude  as  before,  still  rub- 
bing his  pink,  baby-soft  palms  together,  regarding  her 
with  his  inscrutable  smile,  in  which  the  look  of  sensual 
triumph  had  deepened,  to  which  there  was  added  another 
quality,  as  of  utter  pitilessness,  which  had  not  been  there 
before.  In  her  own  eyes  was  an  appealing  look,  as  if 
begging  for  mercy. 

She  wondered  obscurely  whether  he  had  any  notion  of 
the  agony  he  was  inflicting.  It  seemed  to  her  that  he 
could  not  know.  Suddenly  it  appeared  to  her  that  this 
wave  of  emotion  which  was  undulating  through  her  was 
a  monstrous  thing. 

She  did  not  know  that  every  gesture,  every  glance, 
every  word,  every  movement,  the  very  intonation  and 
cadence  in  his  voice,  was  premeditated,  and  as  fully  con- 
trolled and  directed  as  the  words  he  spoke.  She  did  not 
know  that  he  was  playing  upon  her  emotionalism  as  a 
musician  plays  upon  an  instrument  whose  every  chord 
he  knows,  that  he  was  manipulating  her  senses  with  the 
terrible,  unerring  certainty  of  a  man  whose  experience 
has  been  with  dozens,  with  scores,  perhaps  with  hundreds, 
of  women,  and  who,  because  of  that  experience  which 
had  been  always  purely  of  the  senses  and  therefore  un- 
blinded  by  affection,  or  even  of  sympathy,  was  able  to 
appraise  women  with  the  unfailing  insight  evinced  by  a 
horse-dealer  in  the  purchase  of  a  horse,  by  an  art-lover 
in  the  acquisition  of  a  new  painting.  Ulrich  von  Dette 
was  a  connoisseur  of  women;  he  not  only  knew  how  to 
appraise  them,  he  knew  how  to  break  them  of  their  oppo- 
sition to  his  will,  of  their  security,  almost  of  their  indi- 
viduality, and  all  that  with  the  same  good-natured  ease, 
the    indifferent    nonchalance    with  which  a  sportsman 


74  THE    GREATER    JOY 

breaks  a  high-spirited  horse,  giving  the  line  only  to  more 
effectively  assert  his  own  mastery  in  the  end. 

Later  on,  as  she  was  turning  a  leaf,  her  hand  remain- 
ing in  the  air  between  him  and  herself  for  a  moment,  he, 
without  warning,  caught  it  in  his  own,  crushing  it  to  his 
lips,  kissing  passionately  the  tips  of  her  fingers. 

"You  had  promised  not  to,"  she  said  gently. 

She  was  aware  that  her  voice  also  held  a  new  note. 

"When  did  I  make  so  foolish  a  promise?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"Yesterday." 

She  withdrew  her  fingers  from  his  grasp.  They  were 
bruised  and  sore  from  the  energy  of  his  lips. 

"Yesterday?"  He  wrinkled  his  brow  as  if  in  futile 
recollection.  "Yesterday  is  a  century  ago,  for  a  night 
interposed  between  yesterday  and  to-day,  a  night — with- 
out you." 

"Hush !"  She  was  amazed  that  she  did  not  resent  this 
insult.  But  her  voice  was  beyond  her  control.  It  was 
soft  as  the  cooing  of  a  mating  bird. 

"My  darling,"  he  went  on  with  sudden  tenderness  and 
very  gently,  "my  darling,  to-morrow  is  Sunday,  and 
you  are  free.  Let  us  go  into  the  woods  together  in  the 
morning.  We'll  have  dinner  there,  just  you  and  I,  and 
then — we'll  roam  through  the  woods  again." 

"No,  no!"  she  cried. 

"Sweetheart,"  he  said  caressingly,  "don't  think  evil  of 
me.  There  is  none  in  my  mind.  Surely  there  is  no 
harm  in  our  going  to  the  woods  together,  where  we  can 
pick  violets  and  daffodils.  I  will  show  you  a  beautiful 
mansion — such  a  mansion  and  such  a  park !" 

"I  will  not  go  with  you,"  she  answered  deter- 
minedly. 

"Do  you  already  love  me  so  much?"  he  laughed. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  75 

She  became  angry,  but  he  laughed  again,  and  bending 
over,  kissed  her  between  the  eyes. 

"Dearest,"  he  said,  "what  else  can  I  say?  What  else 
can  be  the  reason  of  your  refusal?  Either  you  refuse 
because  you  love  me  and  fear  me;  or  you  love  me  so 
much  that  an  innocent  day  with  me  would  bring  you  no 

joy." 

He  saw  by  her  eyes  that  she  was  perplexed,  and  be- 
fore she  could  resist  him,  he  had  kissed  her  again  and 
again  on  the  brow,  on  the  eyes,  imparting  such  delicacy, 
such  tenderness,  such  reverence  almost  to  his  blandish- 
ments that  Alice  became  more  and  more  demoralized. 

"Forgive  me,  love,"  he  went  on  feverishly.  "You  did 
not  understand  what  I  meant.  Forgive  me,  love.  I  was 
a  brute  to  say  it.  You  will  come  with  me  to-morrow, 
won't  you?" 

"I  will  not  go,"  she  repeated  lamely,  feeling  herself 
weaken  under  his  persistence. 

"Yes,  you  will,"  he  said  softly.  "I  will  be  here  for 
you  at  ten  o'clock.  We  will  spend  an  ideal  day.  It 
shall  mark  the  betrothal  of  our  souls,  and  upon  it  shall 
fall  no  evil." 

Again  she  murmured  her  protests,  but  he  only  put  his 
arm  about  her  chair,  and  leaned  closer  to  her,  so  closely 
that  the  breath  of  his  lips  stirred  on  hers. 

"Dearest,"  he  asked,  "why  not?" 

She  strove  to  speak  with  vehemence : 

"You  have  not  treated  me  in  the  right  way,  not " 

"Like  a  gentleman  ?"  he  queried  gently. 

She  said  nothing,  but  the  tears  of  mortification  stood 
in  her  eyes. 

He  took  her  by  the  shoulders  and  gazed  down  at  her, 
an  amused  smile  playing  about  his  lips. 

"Alice,"  he  said  gravely,  in  the  voice  of  a  grown-up 


76  THE    GREATER    JOY 

imparting  to  a  child  a  truth  which  he  doubts  will  be  com- 
prehended, "the  man  who  treats  the  woman  he  loves  like 
a  gentleman  in  the  presence  of  others  is  a  gentleman,  in- 
deed ;  but  the  man  who  treats  the  woman  he  loves  like  a 
gentleman  when  he  is  alone  with  her,  is  a  fool." 

She  looked  up  into  his  eyes,  trying  vaguely  to  smile 
at  the  witticism.  She  did  not  understand  why  she  should 
be  so  tearful.  But  she  felt,  at  the  moment,  that  if  she 
could  have  buried  her  head  against  his  shoulder,  and 
weep  and  weep,  with  her  arms  wound  about  his  neck,  and 
his  mouth  on  the  nape  of  her  neck,  it  would  have  been 
the  height  of  felicity. 

Still  the  tears  flowed. 

"Dewdrops  in  violets,"  he  said.  "Raindrops  on  forget- 
me-nots.  Teardrops  in  a  woman's  eyes."  Then  he  bent 
over,  and  kissed  first  the  right  and  then  the  left  eye. 

"I  have  tasted  the  salt  of  your  tears,"  he  said  in  a 
voice  whose  cadence  was  like  the  consecration  of  a 
priest,  "I  have  tasted  the  bitterness  of  your  heart.  You 
have  allowed  me  to  do  so.  Now,  also,  you  must  allow 
that  I  show  you  the  way  to  the  kingdom  of  earth  in 
which,  to  those  who  dwell  therein,  there  is  neither  misery 
nor  anger  nor  tears.  Think  no  evil,  my  love,  for  I  would 
not  spoil  the  betrothal  of  our  souls  by  as  much  as  an  im- 
pure thought.  Think  no  evil,  my  love,  for  I  can  know 
no  evil  when  you  are  near  me." 

The  slow,  voluptuous  rhythm  of  his  voice  seemed  to 
communicate  itself  to  her  blood;  a  strange  vibration 
shook  her  entire  body.  She  wondered  why  he  did  not 
kiss  her;  then  she  realized  with  the  consciousness  of  a 
wrong-doer  that  she  longed  for  his  kisses. 

Suddenly  he  kissed  her.  Bending  back  her  head,  he 
kissed  her  lingeringly  once,  only  once  upon  the  lips.     But 


THE    GREATER    JOY  77 

to  her  his  kiss  seemed  to  make  of  life  a  dazzling  vision 
of  surpassing  beauty. 

Thus  he  swept  her  at  his  pleasure  from  the  turgid 
depths  of  desire  to  the  lyric  heights  of  poetic  passion — 
she  all  unconscious  that  she  was  the  lute  and  he  the 
player,  that  he  was  attuning  her,  searching  her,  adapting 
her  to  his  touch  even  as  the  violinist  tunes  his  instrument 
and  adapts  it  to  himself  before  using  it. 


CHAPTER  V 

Alice  slept  placidly  all  through  that  night.  Ulrich  had 
lulled  and  stilled  her  terror  of  him,  and  with  his  powerful 
rhetoric  had  placed  a  quietus  upon  her  half-awakened, 
half-dormant  passion. 

She  had  again  abandoned  herself  to  the  delicious  de- 
lusion that  the  emotions  he  had  stimulated  in  her  at  times 
were  fancied  and  not  real,  that  she  was  merely  playing  a 
little  with  love,  and  that  she  did  not  desire  in  the  least 
to  actually  enter  the  "kingdom  of  earth"  which  he  had 
depicted  so  glowingly.  There  was  no  real  danger  for 
her,  she  felt  confident,  and  she  was  quite  sure  now  that 
it  was  readily  within  the  province  of  her  will  to  expel 
all  thoughts  of  him  from  her  mind  and  heart,  should  the 
phantom  of  real,  actual  danger  arise. 

So  it  happened  that  there  was  neither  embarrassment, 
nor  timidity,  nor  fear  in  her  manner  or  in  her  heart,  as 
she  came  down  the  hospital  steps  that  Sunday  morning 
to  meet  him,  where  he  stood  waiting  for  her  with  the 
automobile. 

Until  then  von  Dette  had  seen  her  only  in  her  nurse's 
uniform,  and  he  had  not  supposed  that  any  other  garb 
could  heighten  her  loveliness  in  his  eyes,  accustomed  as 
he  was  to  perceive  the  intrinsic  value  of  a  woman  at  the 
first  glance.  But  the  girl's  beauty  was  such,  as  she 
stood  before  him,  her  perfectly  moulded  figure  sheathed 
in  pale  gray  voile  that,  cynical  libertine  though  he  was, 
a  sharp  ejaculation  of  surprise  escaped  his  lips.     She 

78 


THE    GREATER    JOY  79 

might,  as  she  stood  there,  have  served  for  a  painter  en- 
gaged in  presenting  those  rare,  luscious  days  when  the 
radiance  of  Spring  almost  imperceptibly  deepens  and 
merges  in  the  glory  of  Summer.  All  the  sweetness  and 
sparkling  freshness  of  early  youth  was  upon  her,  all  the 
callowness,  the  gaucherie  of  too-early  youth  was  gone; 
her  whole  being  was  instinct  with  and  prophetic  of  that 
maturity  of  beauty  when  knowledge  and  experience 
would  have  consummated  the  handiwork  of  Nature. 

As  he  gazed  upon  her,  a  terrible  thrill  of  desire  over- 
came him,  and  to  suppress  it,  he  began  a  long  discussion 
with  the  chauffeur  concerning  a  fancied  weakness  of  the 
machine,  about  the  roads,  about  anything.  When  he 
came  back  to  her,  he  was  again  the  deft  man  of  the 
world,  self-contained,  self-controlled,  willing  to  mortify 
the  flesh  at  any  cost  for  days  to  come  for  the  sake  of  the 
ultimate  intoxication  that  waited  for  him,  when  he  had 
finally  run  down  his  game.  He  was  afraid  to  frighten 
away  his  prey  by  too  clearly  betraying  the  end  in  view, 
by  any  ill-advised  move  that  might  arouse  her  suspicion, 
and  put  her  on  her  guard. 

"Well,"  he  said,  as  the  automobile  rolled  down  the 
street,  "the  betrothal  of  our  souls  could  not  have  chanced 
upon  a  lovelier  day.  Will  you  trust  me  ?  Or  must  I  tell 
you  where  we  are  going?" 

"I  will  trust  you,"  she  said  demurely,  playfully,  "since 
I  have  your  assurance  that  upon  this  day  can  fall  neither 
evil  things  nor  evil  thoughts." 

He  smiled,  coldly,  so  it  seemed  to  her.  In  truth,  her 
beauty  was  intoxicating  him,  and  he  dared  show  no 
warmth  lest  the  torch  of  cordiality  burst  prematurely  into 
the  furnace-like  blaze  of  passion.  Finally  he  spoke,  ask- 
ing permission  to  place  a  warm  wrap  about  her  shoulders, 
and  in  doing  so,  through  the  jerking  of  the  machine,  his 


80  THE    GREATER    JOY 

fingers  touched  the  nape  of  her  neck,  where  the  white 
flesh  showed  through  the  loosely  woven  network  of  the 
lace. 

"Dearest,"  he  murmured  passionately,  feeling  that  he 
must  let  that  one  word  serve  as  an  outlet  for  his  feelings. 
"Dearest!" 

Alice  placed  her  fingers  upon  her  mouth  with  the  pret- 
tiest gesture  imaginable. 

"Hush !"  she  said,  "our  souls  are  listening." 

"You  are  adorable,"  he  murmured.  The  terrible  sen- 
suality that  had  possessed  him  for  days  fell  away  from 
him.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  daintiness,  the  charm  of 
her  rebuke  had  banished  it. 

He  felt  that  there  was  a  slight  reversal  of  their  rela- 
tions, a  modification,  certainly.  Until  now  he  had  held 
the  whip  hand.  He  had  forced  her  into  falling  madly  in 
love  with  him,  while  he  himself  was  held  well  in  check. 
To-day  he  felt  less  sure  of  her,  and  less  sure  also  of  him- 
self. It  was  quite  possible  that  his  ardor  exceeded  hers, 
that  he  already  cared  more  for  her  than  she  did  for  him. 
But  she  was  very  lovely,  and  he  was  willing  to  pay  a 
higher  price  than  usual  in  the  way  of  preliminary  court- 
ing, preliminary  suffering. 

He  felt  distinctly  grateful  to  her  for  having  liberated 
him  from  the  sting  of  his  pain.  He  was  a  materialist,  a 
man  of  pleasure,  no  doubt,  but  he  was  also  a  man  of 
poetic  moods,  of  finer  perceptions,  of  exaggerated  artistic 
instincts.  There  was  no  coarseness,  no  vulgarity  in  him. 
It  had  been  one  of  his  unexpressed  griefs  that  had  at 
times  disgusted  him  with  himself  and  increased  the  cyni- 
cism with  which  he  regarded  all  human  nature,  that 
among  all  the  women  who  had  attracted  him,  with  whom 
he  had  had  liaisons  or  desired  to  have  them,  there  had  not 
been  one  good,  one  superior  woman — not  one  who  had 


THE    GREATER    JOY  81 

held  him  by  any  other  means  than  the  transitory  pleasure 
she  afforded. 

Ulrich  was  as  merciless  in  his  criticism  of  himself  as  in 
his  analysis  of  others ;  he  had,  at  the  outset  of  his  amor- 
ous experiences,  ascribed  this  circumstance  to  the  limita- 
tions of  each  successive  woman,  and  with  the  insolent 
judgment  of  early  youth  had  decided  that  the  woman 
whom  he  could  really  love,  who  would  appeal  to  his 
heart  and  his  mind  and  his  senses  as  well,  was  an  im- 
possible myth.  Good  women  seemed  to  him,  in  these 
early  days,  either  stupid  or  insipid.  The  women  of  the 
great  world,  with  whom  his  rank  brought  him  into  abun- 
dant contact,  seemed  ambitious,  shallow,  vain,  insincere, 
on  the  same  spiritual  level  almost,  as  far  as  self-seeking 
went,  as  his  demi-mondaines,  with  the  unappreciable  dif- 
ference that  whereas  he  paid  the  latter  in  francs  or  marks, 
the  former,  for  favors  granted,  exacted  payment  in  furth- 
erance of  social  position,  or  some  similar  emolument 
which  it  was  in  his  power  to  procure.  Because  of  his 
high  rank,  his  favors  stood  for  much  in  certain  circles. 
The  really  virtuous  woman,  matron  and  maid  alike,  had 
impressed  him  as  intolerably  deficient  in  temperament, 
and  a  woman  who  was  deficient  in  temperament  could 
never,  he  knew,  accelerate  the  pulsing  of  his  blood  by 
the  fraction  of  a  second. 

There  had  been  witty  women,  women  with  whom  con- 
versation and  social  intercourse  had  been  a  delight,  but 
there  had  always  been  some  trait,  mental  or  physical,  that 
had  made  it  impossible  for  them  to  inspire  in  him  the 
grande  passion. 

He  was  excessively  fastidious.  A  strait-laced  notion, 
an  unbecoming  hat,  a  mole,  an  imperfectly  rounded  arm, 
a  mere  bagatelle,  was  sufficient  to  repel  him.  He  had 
pursued  many  a  woman  who  had  at  first  appealed  strongly 


83  THE    GREATER    JOY 

to  him,  and  had  abruptly  abandoned  the  chase  because 
of  some  suddenly  conceived  disgust.  This  had  earned 
for  him  the  name  of  a  flirt,  a  breaker  of  hearts,  and  as 
none  of  the  fair  ones  whom  he  had  pursued  and  then 
abandoned  ever  ascribed  his  sudden  defection  to  lack  of 
attractiveness  on  her  own  part,  but  to  the  lashings  of  a 
suddenly  awakened  conscience  on  his,  he  passed  as  a  man 
of  fair  morality. 

As  he  grew  older,  and  demi-mondaine  succeeded  demi- 
mondaine,  each  being  thrown  aside  in  turn  as  he  wearied 
of  her  attractions,  he  became  skeptical  as  to  his  former 
theory.  Perhaps  the  woman  whom  a  man  might  really 
love  was  after  all  no  myth.  He,  who  was  so  readily  dis- 
gusted with  any  superficial  blemish  in  virtuous  women, 
overlooked  similar,  perhaps  greater,  blemishes  with  the 
greatest  unconcern  in  a  demi-mondaine.  Was  it  then 
some  inherent  leprosy  of  his  own  mind  that  made  it  im- 
possible for  him  to  be  fascinated  by  any  woman  whose 
manner  was  not  suggestive,  whose  personality  was  not 
steeped  in  that  subtle  aroma  of  the  woman  of  easy  vir- 
tue ?  It  made  him  furious  to  think  this  of  himself.  He 
began,  at  this  time,  to  cultivate  a  closer  acquaintance 
with  his  cousin  Sylvia,  in  the  hopes  of  forcing  himself 
to  love  her.  For  many  reasons  a  marriage  with  Sylvia 
would  have  been  desirable,  but  though  he  sought  sedu- 
lously to  produce  the  psychologial  feeling  in  himself  that 
would  warrant  his  asking  her  to  marry  him,  he  did  not 
succeed.  Only  he,  with  his  inveterate  cynicism,  termed 
it  "physiological  feeling." 

But  then,  Sylvia  was  a  brunette.  He  was  very  fond  of 
Sylvia,  in  a  brotherly  sort  of  way,  but  that  was  all.  And 
loose  as  was  the  moral  code  of  Ulrich  von  Dette,  he  had 
his  code.     He  would  not  marry  a  woman  he  did  not  love. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  83 

After  that  he  despaired  of  finding  a  woman  who  would 
be  all  that  he  desired ! 

All  that  he  desired! 

He  formulated  a  brief  of  what  a  woman  should  be. 
She  should  be  not  only  completely  adapted  to  her  lover's 
needs,  but  should  possess  an  unfailing  genius  to  alter- 
nately arouse  and  quench  his  desire,  to  adapt  herself  to 
whatever  he  desired  his  mood  to  be  at  the  moment.  And 
she  must  also  be  able  to  cater  to  other,  non-sensual 
moods.  Manlike,  not  finding  his  ideal,  he  was  content 
with  an  approximate  substitute.  Often  he  thought  of 
Taine's  witty  dictum,  "At  eighteen  we  desire  a  madonna 
and  are  satisfied  with  a  servant-girl." 

Now,  sitting  beside  Alice,  he  wondered  vaguely  what 
this  affair  would  drift  into. 

He  had  his  first  premonition  that  Sunday  morning  that 
the  girl  at  his  side  might  be  the  woman,  not  merely  a 
woman.  He  had  a  curious  presentiment  that  now,  when 
he  had  all  but  despaired  of  meeting  with  the  great  ad- 
venture, when  he  had  begun  to  view  its  very  possibility 
with  contemptuous  cynicism,  the  hour  might  be  at  hand 
in  which  his  youthful  dream  was  to  come  true. 

Certainly  this  girl  was  different,  very,  very  different, 
from  any  woman  he  had  met.  She  was  young,  and  she 
was  passionate,  that  he  could  see ;  but  she  had  brains,  that 
also  he  knew  to  a  certainty,  and  she  could  converse  clev- 
erly, and  now  she  was  unfolding  still  another  side,  a  play- 
ful, feminine  side,  a  sweetly  spiritual  side  that  endeared 
her  to  him  a  hundred  fold. 

Then,  her  coloring  was  an  unadulterated  joy  to  him. 
He  was  a  little  tired  of  the  flaxen-haired  beauties  of  his 
native  land.  He  remembered  the  time  in  his  student 
days  when  he  had  gone  wild  over  every  golden-haired 


84  THE    GREATER    JOY 

peasant  girl,  for  blondeness  moved  him  intensely,  cre- 
ating in  him  not  only  a  sensual  sensation,  but  an  extraor- 
dinary tenderness.  He  remembered  among  the  women 
of  his  past,  one  in  particular  who  had  had  nothing  what- 
ever to  recommend  her  excepting  her  hair  and  her  com- 
plexion. Her  features  had  been  coarse,  her  contours  un- 
lovely, her  voice  shrill  and  unpleasant,  but  she  had  held 
him  effectually  for  a  while  by  the  spell  cast  upon  him  by 
her  hair,  which  was  so  wonderfully  fine  and  heavy  that 
she  was  forced  to  wear  it  down  her  back,  like  a  little 
girl.  But  he  had  tired  of  her  very  soon.  It  had  barely 
been  an  amour,  the  merest  infatuation,  more  evanescent 
and  ephemeral  even  than  the  others.  And  he  had  wan- 
dered on  to  others.  But  always  and  always  it  had  been 
the  blonde  woman  who  attracted  and  held  him,  appealing 
first  to  his  tenderness  and  his  esthetic  taste,  and  who, 
then,  in  some  subtle  way,  became  altogether  desirable  to 
him.  But  there  had  been  so  many  with  the  same  color 
of  hair,  for  though  the  shades  varied  from  faintest  baby 
blonde  to  darkly  burnished  gold,  there  had  been  no  dif- 
ference in  the  quality,  the  timbre  of  the  color,  just  as  a 
dozen  shades  or  so  of  embroidery  floss  are  employed  in 
the  working  of  one  single  flower,  and  though  these  dif- 
ferent shades  differ  and  vary,  running  from  the  very 
light  ones  to  the  intensely  dark  shades,  yet  their  differ- 
ence is  due  only  to  the  difference  in  the  amount  of  light 
they  diffuse,  and  is  in  no  way  fundamental  or  sugges- 
tive of  any  than  the  merest  superficial  difference. 

He  had  sometimes  thought  that  a  dark  woman  would 
make  a  welcome  change,  just  as  a  man,  though  port  be 
his  favorite  wine,  will  sometimes  drink  a  sauterne  or  a 
sherry,  even  if  he  does  not  care  particularly  for  these 
vintages,  for  the  mere  sake  of  contrast  thereby  afforded 
his  palate,  so  that  port,  on  being  tasted  again  will  be  all 


THE    GREATER    JOY  85 

the  more  gratifying.  But  he  had  failed  to  interest  him- 
self in  Sylvia,  and  after  that  episode  he  sought  again 
purposely  and  deliberately  to  become  interested  in  some 
dark-eyed,  dark-haired  nymph.  But  strive  as  he  would, 
as  in  Sylvia's  case,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  the 
verge  of  even  the  most  casual  infatuation  for  a  dark 
woman.  The  most  insinuating  glances,  received  and 
given,  the  most  intimate  conversations,  the  closest  prox- 
imity allowed  by  the  conventions  of  the  drawing- 
and  ballroom  and  sometimes  the  boudoir,  had  failed  to 
fire  his  blood  or  engage  his  emotions.  Dark  women  re- 
mained in  his  estimation  what  they  had  been  before — 
good  for  decorative  purposes  only. 

So,  a  little  weary  of  the  procession  of  blondes,  a  trifle 
bored  by  their  mental  as  well  as  personal  sameness,  he 
wandered  on.  Que  voulez-vows?  What  was  a  man  to 
do?    The  love  of  a  woman  was  indispensable  to  him. 

And  thus  with  a  delight  that  was  tremendous  and  in- 
finitesimal at  the  same  time,  tremendous  because  deep, 
infinitesimal  since  it  noted  nuances  so  fine  that  they 
might  have  escaped  a  less  keen  observer,  he  perceived  the 
quality  in  Alice's  coloring  that  differentiated  her  from 
other  blondes.  He  was  so  sure  now — this  morning — that 
this  visible  difference  was  merely  a  tangible  proof  of  a 
difference  that  was  internal  as  well,  a  difference  which 
she  had  most  auspiciously  begun  to  manifest,  and  that 
this  woman  would  not  only  be  the  most  beautiful  he  had 
ever  won,  but  the  most  interesting,  and  in  every  way  the 
most  satisfactory. 

She  was  a  decisive  blonde,  it  is  true,  but  upon  her  hair 
was  not  a  shimmer  of  gold,  rather  the  sheen  of  silver. 
When  the  sun  shone  upon  her  hair,  its  radiance  dazzled, 
but  did  not  warm.  It  was  brilliantly  cool,  but  her  hair 
seemed  warm  when  out  of  the  sunlight.     It  then  lost  its 


86  THE    GREATER    JOY 

silvery  effulgence,  and  appeared  to  be  the  shade  of  very 
lightly  smoked  meerschaum,  very  exquisite,  very  dis- 
tinctive, with  a  suggestion  of  softness  that  was  at  once 
chaste  and  warm.  He  thought  he  would  never  tire  of 
looking  at  her  hair.  If  she  consented  to  accept  him  as  a 
lover,  and  he  had  no  doubt  that  she  would,  he  was  deter- 
mined to  make  her  cut  off  her  hair  the  moment  it  showed 
the  first  white  threads.  He  would  force  her  to  save  her 
combings — she  had  probably  never  thought  of  it — and 
there  would  then  be  enough  of  her  own  beautiful  hair  to 
make  her  a  fine  wig,  and  he  would  see  her  always  wear- 
ing her  pale  crown  of  hair,  and  would  not  endure  the 
ordeal  of  seeing  it  shed  its  glory  of  turning  piebald 
and  streaky,  a  change  to  which  he  was  particularly 
sensitive. 

It  pleased  him  to  think  he  had  had  this  thought.  He 
had  never  before  thought  ahead  of  the  possible  appear- 
ance of  any  woman  many  years  hence.  They  had  been 
creatures  of  a  day,  or  of  an  hour,  and  so  long  as  they  suf- 
ficed to  while  away  that  day  or  hour,  he  had  asked  noth- 
ing more  of  them.  And  it  came  to  him  as  an  extraordi- 
nary occurrence  that  he  should  thus  subconsciously  have 
considered  the  possibility  of  prolonging  this  intrigue  in- 
terminably, that  he  should  consider  such  a  prolongation 
desirable.  That  Alice  had  been  capable  of  creating  in 
him  this  unique  emotion  was  an  experience  sufficiently 
remarkable  in  itself  to  be  deemed  prophetic  of  the  fortui- 
tousness of  the  intrigue  he  was  embarking  upon. 

Would  he  perhaps  desire  to  marry  her?  Ulrich  was 
intimately  acquainted  with  the  worst  side  of  his  charac- 
ter. He  gloried  in  it ;  it,  was  a  matter  of  vanity  with 
him ;  and  now  the  perception  came  to  him  with  startling 
precision  that  there  was  a  convex  side  to  the  concave  side 
of  his  code    which   had    determined  him  to  marry  no 


THE    GREATER    JOY  87 

woman  he  could  not  whole-heartedly  love,  and  that  con- 
vex side  of  the  code  possibly  would  demand  of  him  that, 
having  found  the  one  woman,  he  should  marry  her,  irre- 
spective of  station. 

Would  he,  then,  be  faithful  to  her?  That  would  be  a 
new  experience  also,  and  he  hoped  she  might  bring  the 
miracle  to  pass.  To  be  faithful  to  one  woman  for 
months,  for  years,  perhaps !  He  had  always  believed  it 
to  be  an  impossibility  for  a  man  of  any  spirit.  He  knew 
men  who  went  home  every  night  to  their  wives  and  their 
home  supper  in  contentment,  even  with  a  certain  expec- 
tation of  pleasure.  This  had  seemed  very  ridiculous  to 
Ulrich.  He  craved  variety  in  food,  in  cooking,  in  books, 
in  women.  No  matter  how  fond  a  man  is  of  roast  beef 
or  a  leg  of  mutton,  there  surely  comes  a  time  when  he 
yearns  for  Leberpasteten  and  Gaensebrust.  No  matter 
how  devoted  a  man  is  to  the  substantial  fare  of  Pliny  or 
Epictetus,  there  are  times  when  he  craves  the  volatile 
essence  of  life  embodied  in  Voltaire's  writings,  or  the 
titillating,  ticklish  charm  of  a  Balzac  or  a  Boccaccio.  It 
showed  a  remarkable  lack  of  enterprise,  an  incomprehen- 
sible dulness  for  a  man  to  remain  true  to  one  woman 
only,  and  argued  a  deficiency  in  amorous  adventuresome- 
ness  which  caused  Ulrich  to  feel  a  compassion  for  such  a 
man  not  unlike  the  compassion  he  lavished  upon  the 
blind,  the  halt,  the  physically  or  mentally  incapable. 

What,  then,  would  be  the  outcome  of  this  affair  ?  He 
asked  the  question  of  himself  the  second  time. 

They  were  flying  along  the  avenue,  and  Alice,  her  head 
slightly  inclined  to  meet  the  wind,  sat  in  silence.  He 
wondered  how  long  she  would  have  the  temerity  to  con- 
tinue silent,  and  to  do  it  so  unconsciously.  She  seemed 
this  morning  to  him  like  a  different  woman,  not  as  young, 
not  as  inexperienced,  more  of  the  woman  of  the  world, 


88  THE    GREATER    JOY 

with  all  her  pristine  sweetness  intact,  however,  and  as 
evident  as  a  bunch  of  violets  in  a  warm  room. 

Suddenly  she  turned  and  faced  him.  Would  she  in- 
dulge in  some  commonplace  remark  after  that  adorable 
rebuke  she  had  administered  to  him? 

"Does  spiritual  betrothal  impose  silence  upon  the  con- 
tracting parties?"  she  asked  coyly. 

He  smiled  down  into  her  eyes. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said.  "I  have  been  stupid.  Alice, 
you  have  rendered  me  speechless.  No,  I  am  not  saying 
something  that  I  should  not  say;  you  have  made  me 
stupid  and  dull  because  you  are  in  a  mood  in  which  I 
have  never  seen  you,  which  I  did  not  suspect  you  capable 
of,  my  little  wise  owl." 

Alice  laughed  and  then  pulled  a  long  face. 

"I  am  so  sorry  you  are  disappointed  in  me,"  she  said. 

"Disappointed?"  He  was  in  doubt  whether  she  was 
serious  or  mischievous. 

"Disappointed,  yes,  for  since  you  liked  me  in  the  mood 
you  knew,  and  did  not  suspect  this  one " 

He  clasped  her  hand. 

"Dearest,"  he  said,  "if  you  look  at  me  like  that  again, 
I  shall  kiss  you  right  here  on  the  avenue  before  all  those 
people  as  spectators." 

"I  would  not  mind  all  those  strangers  a  bit  as  specta- 
tors." 

"What?"  He  was  infinitely  entertained  by  her 
audacity. 

"But  I  would  mind  the  invisible  spectators.  Must  I 
remind  you  of  them  again  ?    The  bride  and  bridegroom." 

He  bent  down  and  kissed  her  hand,  where  it  lay  in  her 
lap. 

"I  could  not  help  it,  dearest,"  he  explained.  "You 
are  bewitching,  adorable." 


THE    GREATER    JOY 


"I  should  be  no  less,  since  I  enter  Paradise  to-day- 
"Paradise  ?"     He  was  honestly  bewildered. 


"You  have  not  told  me,  but  the  Kingdom  of  Earth — I 
supposed  it  was  Paradise  where  you  were  taking  me  to  ?" 

She  smiled  up  into  his  face,  and  there  was  such  sweet- 
ness, such  humility  in  her  voice  that  it  completely  neu- 
tralized the  playfulness  of  her  manner. 

A  pain  moved  in  his  throat  of  which  he  had  believed 
himself  incapable.  He  could  not  speak  for  the  moment, 
but  pressed  her  hand. 

"If  she  continues  like  this  all  day,"  he  thought,  "I  shall 
worship  her  by  evening  as  I  have  never  worshipped  any 
woman  before.,' 

Finally,  at  the  end  of  a  twenty-mile  run,  when  crossing 
the  river,  they  came  upon  a  large  park,  inclosed  with  a 
high  wall  of  gray  stone,  above  which  the  branches  of  the 
trees  made  sweet  music  in  the  wind.  At  the  entrance 
were  iron  gates,  across  which  was  hung  a  placard  so 
enormous  that  it  completely  hid  from  view  the  strip  of 
park  which  would  otherwise  have  been  visible  between 
the  iron  grill- work.  The  placard  read,  "Closed  for  Re- 
pairs.    Open  next  Sunday." 

Alice  gave  an  exclamation  of  disappointment,  but  Ul- 
rich  laughed. 

"That  was  my  inspiration,  that  board,"  he  said,  "so 
that  we  may  have  the  grounds  to  ourselves."  Alight- 
ing, he  unlocked  the  padlock  which  held  the  gates  to- 
gether. 

The  grounds  into  which  they  passed  were  beautiful  in- 
deed. Well-kept  as  was  the  lawn,  there  was  an  air  of 
desolation  and  wild  grandeur  about  the  place  that  struck 
fire  to  Alice's  imagination.  To  her  it  seemed  like  en* 
chanted  ground,  and  in  fancy  she  harked  back  to  those 
early  days  of  her    girlhood  when  the    world  was  still 


90  THE    GREATER    JOY 

swathed  in  the  rose-hue  of  romantic  glamour,  before  she 
had  known  about  the  mystery  of  life. 

Now  she  was  standing  upon  the  threshold  of  life,  and 
its  mystery! 

"See  those  chestnuts,"  said  Ulrich,  pointing  with  his 
cane  to  the  cone-shaped,  starry  white  blossoms  standing 
on  their  branches  like  huge  mignonettes. 

"They  are  the  bouquets  for  the  bridesmaids.  They 
have  been  dipped  in  snow,  that  is  why  they  are  white  as 
virginity;  they  have  been  kissed  by  love,  therefore  are 
their  lips  red  as  desire.', 

Further  on  they  sat  down  upon  the  greensward,  where 
the  grass  was  lush  and  uncut,  and  buried  their  hands  in 
the  long,  sweet-smelling  blades,  drawing  it  luxuriously 
through  their  fingers,  crushing  it,  inhaling  its  fragrance 
in  long,  sensuous  sniffs. 

Alice  plaited  three  blades  of  grass,  while  Ulrich 
watched  her  with  interest. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  he  asked. 

"You  shall  see."  And  she  continued  to  deftly  lace  and 
interlace  the  long,  strong  blades.  Presently  she  broke 
them,  and  knotting  the  two  ends  together  ingeniously, 
she  held  out  to  him  a  ring. 

"This  is  your  betrothal  ring,"  she  said. 

The  soft  dewiness  of  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  him  in' 
saying  this  moved  him  to  sudden  tenderness.     It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  was  being  purified  by  some  painless  flame, 
that  he  was  discovering  a  sweetness  in  life  which  he  had 
hitherto  not  suspected. 

He  took  the  ring  and  slipped  it  upon  his  finger. 

"Now  you  must  make  one  for  yourself." 

"No,  no;  to-day  the  order  of  things  is  reversed.  To- 
day I  wear  no  ring,  but  you  must  wear  one  as  a  symbol 
of  your  captivity." 


WE   WILL  HAVE   THE   GROUNDS  TO   OURSELVES." 


Page  90 


THE    GREATER   JOY  91 

"Yes,"  he  murmured,  remembering  the  cool  touch  of 
her  fingers  upon  his  burning  hand,  when  she  had  handed 
him  the  ring.  "Heavens  knows,  I  am  your  captive  in- 
deed, more  than  you  imagine,  more  than  I  myself  im- 
agined." 

Suddenly  his  passion  swept  through  him.  He  felt  he 
must  take  her  in  his  arms,  and  crush  her  to  his  breast, 
and  kiss  her  upon  her  pale  mouth.  But  she  evaded  him, 
and  with  a  deeply  wise  look,  such  as  a  child,  playing  at 
being  a  grown-up,  may  wear,  said,  motioning  to  a  bed  of 
white  tulips : 

"Sssch !  See  those  children  watching  us  yonder !  You 
would  not  behave  indecorously,  would  you,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  those  little  girls,  all  in  white  dresses,  ready  for 
their  first  communion  ?" 

As  in  the  morning,  he  felt  that  she  had  allayed  his  pas- 
sion as  quickly  as  she  had  aroused  it.  He  loved  her  so 
holily  at  the  moment  that,  had  she  bade  him,  he  would 
have  kissed  the  ground  on  which  she  had  trod.  Sud- 
denly he  rebelled,  suddenly  he  became  angry  that  in  view 
of  his  very  evident  emotion,  she  was  capable  of  remain- 
ing so  cool,  so  detached,  so  distant.  But  the  wave  of  his 
anger  receded  almost  immediately.  Had  he  not  desired 
above  everything  to  find  a  woman  who  would  have 
this  power,  who  would  not  merely  be  beautiful  flesh,  but 
beautiful  spirit  informing  beautiful  flesh,  exalting  it,  en- 
nobling it,  making  it  more  desirable,  more  wonderful  ? 

"I  have  not  yet  told  you  where  we  are,"  he  said  pres- 
ently. 

"Does  Eden  require  a  definition  ?" 

"No,  but  an  explanation." 

"An  explanation?" 

Startled  by  a  sudden  light  in  his  eyes,  she  drew  away 
from  him. 


92  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"The  explanation  is  impossible  in  words.  The  only 
way  to  arrive  at  it  is  to  eat  of  the  Apple — the  Apple  of 
Eden." 

He  took  her  hand. 

"But  we  will  not  eat  of  it  to-day,"  he  continued  gently, 
to  reassure  her,  for  he  saw  terror  mounting  to  her  eyes. 
"We  will  merely  look  at  it  from  a  distance,  and  think 
how  wonderful  it  is." 

She  withdrew  her  hand  from  his.  It  was  warm  and 
moist  from  his  clasp,  and  she  thrust  it  back  into  the 
dewy  grass,  as  if  to  cool  it.  He  sat  regarding  her 
closely,  almost  hungrily. 

She  was  very  pale.  It  seemed  to  Ulrich  that  he  had 
never  seen  any  woman  quite  so  white  before,  but  her 
cheeks  were  tinged  with  pink,  not  through  and  through, 
but  delicately  marked  as  some  peonies  are  marked,  along 
the  lips,  with  a  faint  shell  pink.  And  her  hair,  of  the 
lightly  smoked  meerschaum  hue,  was  so  fair  near  the 
roots  that  the  line  where  hair  and  skin  joined  was  barely 
perceptible.  Her  fairness  imparted  to  her  an  appear- 
ance of  exaggerated  innocence.  He  endeavored  to  get 
his  mind  away  from  himself,  and  fell  in  with  her  playful 
mood. 

"Have  you  noticed  the  fuchsias?"  he  asked.  "They 
are  the  wedding-bells.  See,  the  bell  itself  is  red,  the 
color  of  love,  and  the  cup  that  holds  it  is  purple,  the  color 
of  royalty.  Thus  does  the  fuchsia  signify  the  majesty 
of  the  empire  of  love.  Have  you  noticed  your  wedding 
candles  ?  No,  I  thought  not.  Look  at  that  fir-tree,  and 
this.  The  spring  has  lighted  the  tips  of  the  candles,  and 
the  flame  burns  pale  green,  the  color  of  pristine  purity." 

They  dined  in  a  round  pavilion,  open  on  all  sides,  ad- 
mitting air  and  light,  and  completely  overgrown  and 
hung  with  wistarias,  and  the  wealth  of  the  fairy-like  bios- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  93 

soms  with  its  lacy,  fern-like  foliage,  that  transformed 
itself  to  stained  glass  windows  as  the  magic  rays  of  the 
sun  penetrated  it,  and  painted  upon  the  snowy  linen  on 
the  tables  bright  splotches  of  emerald  and  amethyst.  The 
delicate  perfume  of  the  flowers  mingled  with  the  rich 
odor  of  the  food,  etherealizing  it,  making  of  their  repast 
a  matter  less  of  the  grosser  appetite  than  of  their  esthetic 
sensibilities. 

Ulrich  took  one  of  these  blossoms  in  his  hand.  The 
soft,  flaccid  flower  fell  limply  from  either  side  of  his 
hand,  and  Alice  felt  the  unaccountable  loathing  sweep 
over  her  again,  which,  at  sight  of  his  hands,  she  so  vio- 
lently experienced.  There  seemed  to  her  some  foulness, 
some  vitiating  uncleanness  in  those  soft,  white,  perfervid 
hands.  Thus,  she  thought,  might  they  handle  a  corpse, 
lingering  over  the  touch  of  it,  gloatingly,  perhaps,  cer- 
tainly without  disgust,  without  any  hostile  emotion  of 
any  kind,  feeling,  moreover,  a  morbid  enjoyment  at  con- 
tact of  the  cool,  unresponsive  lifeless  flesh.  And  it  came 
to  her  that  these  hands,  these  same  hands  that  handled  a 
corpse  and  this  exquisite  blossom  alike  dispassionately, 
had  caressed  and  mastered  women  as  the  hands  of  other 
men  caressed  and  played  with  and  mastered  horses  and 
dogs. 

She  could  not  disentangle  her  vision  from  his  hand, 
slowly  and  with  evident  pleasure  moving  the  flower  to 
and  fro,  with  a  tremulous,  waving  motion.  An  instinct- 
ive horror  of  the  man  again  swept  over  her,  and  it  seemed 
to  her  that  she  would  never  be  able  to  sit  opposite  to  him 
for  a  full  hour,  and  pretend  that  she  was  enjoying  her 
food  in  the  presence  of  these  well-trained  menials. 

They  were  alone  for  a  few  moments,  and  Ulrich  prof- 
ited by  it  to  say : 

"These  blossoms  are  a  perfect    presentment  of  love. 


94  THE    GREATER    JOY 

Their  delicate  hue  is  symbolic  of  the  mist  that  enshrouds 
love :  like  distant  mountains,  their  appeals  to  our  imagi- 
nation, reminds  us  of  that  which  we  have  never  known, 
sinks  into  our  soul.  See,  how  the  separate  flowers  that 
make  up  the  whole  are  but  loosely  bound  together.  You 
can  pull  forth  one  blossom,  and  at  first  you  will  hardly 
notice  its  absence,  but  on  turning  over  the  entire  flower, 
you  will  at  once  perceive  that  it  is  mutilated.  Thus  with 
love.  Love  for  one  individual  is  made  up  of  a  thousand 
different  motives,  a  thousand  different  attractions.  Re- 
move one  of  those  attractions,  one  of  those  fascinations, 
and  you  have  mutilated  that  particular  love.  It  will 
never  be  the  same  again." 

They  had  four  persons  to  wait  on  them.  One  waiter 
carried  the  trays  from  the  kitchen;  one  boy,  dressed  in 
a  fantastic  dress  suit  with  long  pantaloons,  who,  Ulrich 
explained,  was  a  genuine  imported  "piccolo,"  and  who 
waited  on  the  waiters ;  the  waiter  who  served  the  dishes 
and  attended  to  the  champagne;  and  the  waiter  who 
placed  dishes  and  wine  before  them. 

Alice  was  very  much  amused  by  this  waiter's  gravity. 
He  seemed  to  bow  every  time  as  he  placed  a  dish 
before  Ulrich.  She  had  never  seen  any  human  being 
convey  such  an  impression  of  deference  as  he  employed, 
and  once,  when  Ulrich  asked  him  something  or  other  in 
German,  he  replied: 

"J a,  Hoheitr 

The  doctor  flashed  an  annihilatory  look  at  the  man, 
beneath  which  he  seemed  to  wither. 

Alice  had  somewheres  read  or  heard  that  word  before, 
and  she  was  sure  it  signified  a  high  rank,  much  higher 
than  that  of  baron,  surely.  Was  Ulrich  then  a  count? 
Or  a  marquis?  Or  possibly  a  duke?  She  could  think 
of  no  higher  rank  than  that. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  95 

The  dessert  having  been  served,  Ulrich  dismissed  the 
waiters,  and  Alice  asked,  her  curiosity  getting  the  better 
of  her: 

"What  does  that  word  mean  —Hoheit?" 

"I  thought,  dearest,  we  had  agreed  that  we  should  not 
eat  of  the  fruit  of  knowledge  to-day?" 

"So  we  did,"  she  responded  gaily.  "We  aie  just  to 
admire  it,  and  perhaps  tear  off  a  bit  of  the  peel  so  as  to 
get  a  better  glimpse  of  the  appetizing  fruit." 

"How  clever  you  are,  Alice!" 

He  arose,  walked  around  the  table,  and  to  her  amaze- 
ment, fell  on  his  knees  before  her. 

"Alice,"  he  said,  with  great  seriousness,  "I  love  you. 
I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  love  you.  Tell  me  that  you 
care  just  a  little  for  me?" 

The  girl  put  her  hand  under  his  chin.  She  felt  a  lit- 
tle thrill  as  she  did  this.  She  did  not  really  want  to  do 
this,  but  again  that  strange,  blind  force  seemed  td  push 
her  on.  She  looked  lingeringly  into  his  eyes.  They 
seemed,  at  the  moment,  like  pools  of  water  through  which 
the  moon  had  sent  a  thousand  and  one  arrows  of  glim- 
mering gold.  There  crept  over  her  a  delicious  feel- 
ing of  languor,  of  physical  nearness  to  him,  in  which 
there  was  nothing  violent,  nothing  to  trouble 
her,  which  seemed  rather  to  be  a  species  of  physical 
poetry. 

"Are  you  not  tearing  away  a  very  large  part  of  the 
skin?"  she  asked. 

"You  are  cruel." 

He  arose  abruptly,  and  dusted  his  knees  with  his  hand- 
kerchief, without  looking  at  her.  Her  heart  began  to 
beat  wildly.  Had  she  made  him  angry?  She  wondered 
that  she  should  care  so  much.  But  he  was  not  angry,  as 
she  saw  when  he  looked  at  her  a  moment  later. 


96  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"I  will  answer  your  question  before  the  day  is  up/'  he 
said  gravely,  "and  you,  in  return,  will  answer  mine." 

There  was  something-  of  his  former  cool  supercilious- 
ness in  his  voice  as  he  made  this  statement. 

The  waiter  in  the  silk  knee  breeches  appeared  and  put 
a  question  to  Ulrich  in  rapid  German.  The  doctor,  in 
reply,  uttered  a  decisive,  annoyed  "Nein"  accompanied 
by  a  look  so  black  that  the  girl's  curiosity  was  aroused 
anew. 

The  air  of  mystery  that  hung  about  this  man  was  cer- 
tainly delightful.  Her  love  of  the  romantic  was  being 
satisfied  at  last. 

She  stood  before  him,  her  hands  clasped  upon  her 
bosom. 

"What  has  made  you  angry,  Ulrich?"  she  asked,  aware 
that  her  voice  was  modulated  to  a  caressing  tone. 

"No,  no,  you  must  not  ask." 

"You  deny  me  an  answer  to  everything,"  she  pouted. 
"Why  will  you  be  so  mysterious?" 

"Do  you  really  desire  to  know  ?"  He  had  put  an  arm 
about  her  waist,  holding  her  loosely  in  his  embrace. 

"Of  course  I  do." 

"I  warn  you." 

A  little  frightened  at  her  own  temerity,  she  continued 
smiling  into  his  eyes,  inviting  him  to  speak. 

He  quickly  drew  her  to  him,  and  pressing  her  head 
upon  his  left  shoulder,  he  whispered  in  her  ear : 

"He  wanted  to  know  whether  we  desired  a  room." 

"Oh !" 

She  tried  to  disengage  herself,  but  he  held  her,  and  she 
felt  her  ear  between  his  teeth.  She  gave  a  sharp  cry  of 
pain.     He  released  her. 

"You  hurt  me,"  she  said  with  some  show  of  indigna- 
tion. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  9' 


"I  am  glad  I  did." 

Before  she  could  help  herself,  he  had  her  in  his  arms 
again,  and  had  his  lips  upon  hers.  She  felt  his  teeth 
close  upon  her  lower  lip.  She  did  not  feel  the  pain,  but 
she  was  faint,  and  to  steady  herself,  she  put  out  her  free 
hand  as  if  for  support. 

"Let  me  go,  let  me  go,"  she  moaned.  Suddenly  she 
grew  limp,  her  knees  gave  way.  She  had  fainted.  She 
felt  cold  water  on  her  face. 

"I  am  sorry,"  Ulrich  was  saying.  "Forgive  me,  for- 
give me.     It  was  inexcusable.     I  had  not  meant  to." 

She  was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair,  her  head  propped  up 
by  a  pillow,  and  Ulrich,  white  and  frightened-looking, 
was  near  her,  but  making  no  effort  to  support  her.  Sud- 
denly he  bent  over,  and  taking  a  cambric  handkerchief 
from  his  pocket,  bade  her  open  her  lips.  She  obeyed 
without  hesitation,  and  as  he  brought  the  kerchief  away 
she  saw  a  drop  of  blood  upon  it. 

"You  had  better  rinse  your  mouth,"  he  said,  "and  then 
drink  a  little  water." 

He  poured  out  some  water,  and  again  she  obeyed  him 
blindly,  and  while  she  was  drinking  the  water  she  won- 
dered at  her  obedience  and  at  the  pleasure  it  gave  her  to 
blindly  do  what  he  told  her  to  do. 

"Let  us  go  out  into  the  garden,"  he  said,  "there  ". 
no  air  here.  The  scent  of  these  flowers  drives  one  mad. 
It  is  like  the  fumes  of  opium.     Come,  let  us  go." 

He  was  very  gentle  and  tender  with  her  now,  almost 
reverential.  A  curious  sensation  came  over  her,  a  sen- 
sation of  belonging  to  him,  of  his  belonging  to  her. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  life  was  a  vast  poem  which  it  re- 
quired two  to  read,  and  that  this  strange,  mysterious, 
dazzling  man  was  going  to  con  the  lines  with  her. 

They  came  upon  the  ruins  of  a  church ;  the  belfry  was 


98  THE    GREATER    JOY 

still  standing  and  was  covered  with  ivy,  and  the  blue  sky- 
peeped  through  the  chinks  and  holes  of  the  crumbling 
wall.  And  he  related  to  her  how,  over  a  century  ago, 
there  had  been  a  flourishing  and  prosperous  village  upon 
this  site.  The  villagers  had  lived  as  one  great  family,  all 
men  working,  no  man  wanting,  but  the  patriarch  who  at- 
tended to  the  dealings  of  the  village  with  the  outside 
world,  died  suddenly,  and  the  villagers,  left  to  them- 
selves, helpless  as  children,  when  coping  with  the  world, 
had  one  by  one  left  their  homes  and  gone  elsewhere  to 
seek  new  fortunes. 

They  came  upon  the  ruins  of  a  cottage.  The  roof  was 
gone,  the  walls  were  shreds  and  patches,  but  one  window 
remained  clean-cut  and  surrounded  by  decaying  walls, 
and  one  solitary  rose  had  thrust  itself  through  this  an- 
cient window-frame,  seeking  the  brighter  light  that 
waited  it  outside  of  the  ruins. 

Ulrich  was  going  to  pick  it. for  her,  but  she  restrained 
him. 

"Do  not  pick  it,"  she  said.  She  pointed  to  a  bit  of 
broken  flower-pot  near  the  roots  of  the  rose.  Perhaps 
it  was  planted  in  that  flower-pot  by  some  lover,  and  given 
to  his  sweetheart.  Leave  it  alone.  Let  it  live  its  little 
day,  and  then  perish  here,  where  it  has  grown  and 
bloomed  for  nearly  a  century.  Perhaps,  in  the  far-away 
past  two  lovers  stood  and  looked  at  it,  and  enjoyed  its 
beauty  and  its  perfume  on  a  spring  day,  even  as  you 
and  I  are  standing " 

Her  voice  trailed  off  without  completing  the  sentence. 
A  sudden  intimacy  sprang  up  between  them,  enriched  by 
a  feeling  of  remote  melancholy  by  the  vision  which  she 
had  invoked.  The  wind  stirred  uneasily  in  the  branches 
of  the  century-old  trees  above  them,  and  looking  at  each 
other,  the  same  thought  came  to  them  both,  how  years 


THE    GREATER    JOY  99 

and  years  ago,  those  hypothetical  lovers  might  have 
stood  and  listened  to  those  same  trees,  then  in  their  in- 
fancy, full  of  promise,  full  of  the  future,  as  themselves. 
What  had  been  their  fate?  What  was  their  own  fate 
to  be? 

"Do  you  remember  Oscar  Wilde's  lines  from  Reading 
Gaol?"  asked  Ulrich. 

"  'Out  of  his  mouth  a  red,  red  rose, 
Out  of  his  heart  a  white ' " 

Perhaps  some  villager  is  buried  here,  the  lover  of  long 
ago  or  his  lass ;  perhaps  this  rose  is  fed  by  what  was  once 
her  ruby  mouth." 

"Don't,"  she  said.  "Don't.  How  can  you  think  of 
such  hateful  things  now?  See  how  beautiful  all  the 
world  is!  You  have  spoiled  the  rose  for  me.  Let  us 
go  on." 

But  Ulrich  was  in  a  strange,  a  perverse  mood,  and 
when  they  came  upon  a  purple  hyacinth,  the  last  that  re- 
mained unwithered  of  an  entire  bed,  he  picked  it,  and 
showing  it  to  Alice,  said : 

"What  does  it  remind  you  of?"  he  questioned. 

Before  she  could  reply,  he  continued : 

"Those  curled  petals  are  like  the  curls  of  a  man's  dead 
mistress,  whose  lover  has  been  maddened  by  the  futility 
of  the  kisses  showered  upon  her  cold  cheek.  The  poison 
of  love  and  the  poison  of  death  thus  subtly  blended,  cor- 
roded her  golden  curls  and  turned  them  purple — the  color 
of  decay,  of  majesty,  of  love." 

Ulrich  delivered  these  words  in  that  low,  luxurious 
tone  of  voice  which  Alice  had  come  to  fear  so  greatly, 
which  always  aroused  in  her  the  feeling  as  if  some  in- 
visible force  were  enshrouding  her  with  some  garment 
in  whose  folds  lurked  a  poison,  as  in  the  Golden  Fleece, 


100  THE    GREATER    JOY 

which  would  paralyze  her,  rob  her  of  her  volition,  which 
would  eat  into  her  marrow,  her  flesh,  her  soul. 

"You  are  terrible/'  she  said.  "Terrible.  You  love  to 
dwell  on  perverse  thoughts."  She  became  frightened  at 
her  emotion.  She  foresaw  that  unless  she  controlled  her 
imagination,  Ulrich  would  perceive  it,  and  would  again 
attempt  to  embrace  her,  as  he  had*done  in  the  pavilion. 

She  handed  him  back  the  hyacinth. 

"Take  it,"  she  said.  "I  cannot  bear  to  touch  it  now. 
You  have  spoiled  that  for  me  also.  Hyacinths  will  never 
look  the  same.  And  I  loved  them  so  because  of  Omar 
Khayyam." 

"Omar  Khayyam?"  he  questioned.  He  had  not  read 
the  Rubaiyat. 

She  repeated : 

"I  sometimes  think  that  never  blows  so  red 
A  rose  as  where  some  slaughtered  Caesar  bled, 
That  every  hyacinth  the  garden  wears 
Dropped  in  her  lap  from  some  once  lovely  head." 

Ulrich  listened  attentively. 

"That  is  new  to  me,"  he  said.  "The  lines  are  very 
beautiful.  But  since  you  admire  them  also,  I  do  not  see 
why  you  found  fault  with  me  for  expressing  my  thoughts 
on  the  purple  hyacinth  before,  since  the  lines  of  Omar 
contain  almost  the  same  thought,  only  it  is  veiled  by  him, 
made  more  subtle,  and  is  therefore  more  insidious,  more 
insinuating." 

"I  will  not  admit  that,"  she  said. 

She  spoke  vehemently  to  reassure  herself,  for  she  per- 
ceived there  was  a  kernel  of  truth  in  Ulrich's  statement. 

He  smiled,  and  they  sat  down  together  in  the  grass, 
under  a  horse-chestnut  tree.  His  voice  was  infinitely 
caressing  and  ingratiating.     He  said : 


THE    GREATER    JOY  101 

"Yes,  Alice,  you  do.  But  you  are  like  those,  Puritans 
who  cannot  bear  to  look  upon  an  undraped,  cDrnpletor- 
nude  statue  of  the  human  form.  But  if  the  sculptor  were 
to  chisel  a  figure  with  a  vestment  as  fine  as  gossamer, 
veiling  the  bare  flesh,  but  revealing  every  contour,  every 
outline,  they  will  take  no  exception.  Yet  that  spider-web 
garment  infinitely  enhances  the  seductiveness  of  the  fig- 
ure, because  it  partially  hides,  partially  accentuates  the 
voluptuousness  of  the  bosom,  the  hips,  the  abdomen, 
thereby  stimulating  the  imagination  to  penetrate  beneath 
the  veil." 

Alice  did  not  reply.  She  looked  up  at  him  with  calm, 
innocent  eyes.  He  gazed  down  into  them,  seeming  to 
lose  himself  in  their  depths.  It  seemed  to  him  that  her 
eyes  besought  him  to  leave  her  alone,  not  to  torment  her, 
but  as  he  continued  to  gaze  into  her  orbs,  he  saw  the 
pleading  note  disappear,  and  instead  they  became  trou- 
bled, as  tropical  waters  on  a  stormy  day  suddenly  change 
from  indigo  blue  to  murkiness.  They  became  impene- 
trable, as  if  she  had  consciously  slipped  a  film  over  them 
to  hide  her  thoughts  from  him.  There  was  a  menace  in 
them,  as  if  she  meant  to  convey  to  him  that  he  had  better 
beware,  that  she,  too,  could  shake  him  to  the  very  depths 
of  his  being.  They  became  provocative,  as  if  she  were 
no  longer  afraid  to  test  her  strength  against  his,  to  op- 
pose herself  against  him  in  the  struggle  which  would 
sooner  or  later  take  place  between  them.  She  became 
alluring,  captivating.  She  no  longer  seemed  to  him  a 
simple  young  girl,  ignorant,  innocent,  inexperienced,  but 
a  woman  deep  in  knowledge,  rich  in  the  wisdom  of  such 
things,  thoroughly  formidable. 

"Kiss  me,"  he  whispered. 

She  smiled  ever  so  faintly,  but  the  smile  altered  only 
the    lines    of    her    mouth,  and  in  no  way  changed  the 


103  THE    GREATER    JOY 


sphinx-like  look  of  the  eyes.  Ulrich's  pulse  began  to 
-throb,  his  bear*  to  beat. 

"Ulrich,"  she  said,  speaking  in  an  exaggeratedly 
chaste  voice,  "you  must  not  kiss  me  again.  Kisses  are 
sweetmeats,  and  too  many  bonbons  in  one  day  are  not 
good  for  little  boys." 

She  stroked  his  hair  lightly,  brushing  it  back  with  her 
ringers  from  his  temples  with  a  gesture  such  as  a  mother 
might  employ  in  soothing  a  fretful  child. 

"How  she  dominates  me!"  he  thought.  "How  she 
stimulates  me  only  to  lull  my  senses  asleep  again  with  a 
playful  phrase,  with  a  glance  from  her  eyes,  with  the  sub- 
tle intonation  of  her  voice,  with  the  touch  of  her  cool 
ringers !" 

He  closed  his  eyes,  and  then  spoke  again : 

"Alice,  I  have  something  to  tell  you.  But  tell  me  first, 
I  beseech  you,  do  you  love  me?" 

"I  love  you,  yes,  as  part  of  a  unique  day,  as  I  love  the 
sky,  the  flowers,  the  trees,  the  grass.  They  have  all 
helped  to  make  this  day  unforgettable,  perfect." 

He  caught  her  hand  with  sudden  violence,  and  wrung 
it  so  forcefully,  so  roughly,  that  she  squirmed  with  the 
pain. 

"Alice,"  he  said,  "you  must  be  serious.  I  love  you. 
You  cannot  realize  how  much.  Never  have  I  loved  any 
woman  as  I  love  you." 

A  feeling  of  exhilaration  came  over  her  as  he  spoke. 
She  became  calm.  Leaning  back  against  a  tree,  she  re- 
garded him  tranquilly.  The  visible  emotion  he  was 
laboring  under  quieted  her,  pacified  her  inconceivably.  It 
created  in  her  a  desire  to  play  with  him,  to  see  him  be- 
come more  intense,  more  uncontrollable. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of  ?"  he  asked,  speaking  in  the 
^same  vehement  tone. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  103 

"I  am  wondering,"  she  said  softly,  "how  many  women 
have  heard  you  say  those  very  words." 

He  flushed.  She  could  see  that  he  was  very  angry. 
She  wondered  what  he  would  say.  She  was  enjoying  his 
agitation. 

"You  are  a  child,"  he  burst  forth.  "You  are  a  simple- 
ton. I  have  never  paid  any  woman  I  desired  to  win  the 
compliment  of  lying  to  her " 

"I  am  the  first  one  ?"  she  smiled  cruelly. 

"No,  I  did  not  pay  you  the  compliment  of  lying.  I 
paid  you  the  compliment,  no  less  great,  of  telling  you  the 
truth.  That  is  because  I  desire  you  as  wife  or  sweet- 
heart, as  you  choose." 

She  had  not  expected  him  to  come  to  the  point  so  sud- 
denly. She,  in  turn,  became  agitated.  He  was  standing 
beside  her,  towering  above  her — it  seemed  to  her  excited 
imagination — ready  to  hurl  himself  upon  her  like  an 
avalanche  of  fire  and  snow.  In  one  frightful  moment  of 
self-revelation,  it  came  to  her  that  if  she  dominated  him, 
his  dominion  over  her  was  no  less,  was  perhaps  far 
greater  because  of  her  youth,  and  destined  to  become 
cataclysmal  for  her,  subversive  of  her  peace  of  mind. 

She  did  not  understand  why  he  should  ask  her  to  marry 
him  after  knowing  her  only  a  few  days.  She  was  thor- 
oughly frightened.     She  feared,  she  knew  not  what. 

"I  will  be  neither,"  she  said. 

"Why  not?    Are  you  married?" 

"No,  no." 

That  reassured  him.  All  women  of  spirit,  when 
young,  repudiate  the  idea  of  marriage. 

"Alice,"  he  said,  "in  offering  you  marriage,  I  must,  as 
a  man  of  honor,  explain  to  you  just  who  I  am." 

Speaking  quickly,  in  an  alert,  incisive,  authoritative 
way,  he  told  her  that  he  was  a  prince   of   Hohenhoff- 


104  THE    GREATER    JOY 

Hohe,  the  most  important  of  the  kingdoms  of  the  Ger 
man  Empire,  excepting  Prussia  and  Bavaria.  Sylvia's 
father  had  been  the  eldest  son  of  the  present  king,  his 
grandfather,  whose  demise  was  expected  at  any  moment. 
Sylvia's  father  was  dead,  and  she  was  his  only  living 
child,  but  the  Salic  law  barred  her  from  the  succession. 
The  second  son  of  Ulrich's  grandfather,  the  present 
king,  had  married  late  in  life,  so  that  until  recently  Ul- 
rich,  who  was  the  only  son  of  the  present  king's  young- 
est son,  had  been  heir-apparent,  or  Erbprinz.  But  the 
marriage  of  the  second  son  of  the  old  king  had  resulted 
in  one  son,  Prinz  Eitel  Egon,  aged  eight,  so  that  his  own 
pretensions  to  the  throne  through  the  birth  of  this  little 
boy  had  become  remote,  a  fact  which  troubled  him  very 
little,  as  he  had  always  preferred  medicine  to  politics. 
Still  rank  was  rank,  and  the  possibility  remained  that  he 
might  one  day  inherit  the  crown  of  Hohenhoff-Hohe,  and 
having  been  brought  up  as  heir-apparent,  and  being 
thoroughly  drilled  and  schooled  to  occupy  the  throne,  he 
felt  considerable  scruples  about  contracting  an  alliance 
which  would  bar  his  legitimate  offspring  from  inheriting 
his  titles. 

"Once  Eitel  Egon  is  married,  and  has  children,"  said 
Ulrich,  "I  shall  be  at  liberty  co  marry  as  I  please.  Until 
then  I  can  offer  you  a  morganatic  marriage  only,  which 
allows  me  to  retain  my  right  to  the  succession  for  my 
children  through  a  subsequent  marriage  with  a  woman  of 
my  own  rank.  I  have  always  held  that  a  morganatic 
marriage  is  an  insult  to  a  woman,  a  worse  insult  by  far 
than  to  ask  a  woman  to  accept  me  as  a  lover,  for  a  mor- 
ganatic marriage  is  merely  a  sort  of  sop  thrown  to  a 
woman  to  ease  her  conscience.  It  in  no  way  secures 
the  rights  of  her  children  to  their  father's  titles  or  rank 
or  estate.     It  is  merely  a  guarantee  that  her  husband 


THE    GREATER    JOY  105 

cannot  discard  her  unceremoniously  when  he  is  tired  of 
her.  Is  not  that  an  insult  in  itself?  Would  you,  would 
any  woman  of  fine  sensibilities  desire  to  forcibly  retain 
her  claim  upon  a  man,  should  love  wane?  And  you, 
were  you  ten  times  my  wife,  Alice,  would  not  hold  me 
more  securely  than  as  my  sweetheart.  And  as  to  a  reg- 
ular marriage,  which  would  force  me  to  forego  my  ap- 
panages and  to  swear  away  the  right  of  succession  of  my 
children,  I  am  quite  certain  that  you,  you  of  all  women, 
will  understand  my  scruples  which  tell  me  I  have  no  right 
to  dispose  of  the  rights  of  my  unborn  children.  It  is  a 
fine  point,  but  you  will  see  it,  I  am  sure,  in  the  same  light 
as  I  do." 

Alice  looked  at  him  in  bewilderment.  His  recital  had 
been  torture  to  her.  His  entire  viewpoint  was  so  differ- 
ent from  anything  with  which  she  had  ever  come  in  con- 
tact, that  she  was  at  loss  to  find  her  way  through  this 
labyrinth  of  newness.  Of  one  thing  she  felt  certain. 
He  had  not  meant  the  offer  as  an  insult.  With  the  gen- 
erosity of  the  pure-minded  woman,  she  exonerated  him. 
In  this  point,  also,  his  craftiness  had  triumphed  over  her 
innocence.  He  had,  of  course,  no  intention  of  marrying 
her.  He  Had  spoken  for  effect  simply,  hoping  to  dazzle 
her  by  telling  her  of  his  rank.  He  had  not  dazzled  her 
nearly  as  much  as  he  had  expected  to,  however,  and  he 
regretted  his  frankness.  The  truth  of  the  matter  was 
that  Alice  was  so  completely  fascinated  by  the  man,  that 
there  was  no  emotion  left  in  her  pure  little  heart  to  be- 
stow upon  the  prince. 

"Answer  me,  dear,"  he  implored. 

"I  think,"  she  said  weakly,  "that  you  ought  to  marry 
a  woman  of  your  own  rank." 

"I  have  tried  to,"  he  said  quietly.  He  was  much 
struck  by  her  answer  and  by  the  elimination  of  self  which 


106  THE    GREATER    JOY 

it  showed.  "I  have  tried  to  make  up  my  mind  to  marry 
Sylvia.  It  would  have  been  fair  to  her,  for  it  would  have 
brought  her  children  a  step  nearer  to  the  throne  of  Ho- 
henhoff-Hohe  than  if  she  married  some  one  else.  Also 
for  the  following  reason  the  marriage  would  have  been 
eminently  desirable:  Adjoining  our  kingdom  is  the 
Grandduchy  Hohenhoff-Lohe.  The  present  Grandduke 
is  an  uncle  of  Sylvia's,  on  her  mother's  side.  The  Salic 
law  does  not  bar  Sylvia  from  the  grandduchy,  and  as  her 
uncle  is  unmarried  and  childless,  it  is  safe  to  assume  the 
grandduchy  will  go  to  her.  He  is  dying  of  cancer,  and 
may  live  ten  years  more,  or  again  may  die  to-morrow. 
Now  if  Sylvia  and  I  were  to  marry,  it  would  be  quite 
possible,  even  likely,  that  the  grandduchy  and  the  king- 
dom would  some  day  be  united,  as  they  were  in  the  fif- 
teenth century,  making  Hohenhoff-Hohe  the  second 
kingdom  instead  of  the  third,  of  Germany.  But  Sylvia 
is  in  love  with  some  one  else.  And  so  am  I,  now.  Pos- 
sibly, if  I  had  loved  her,  I  could  have  made  her  love  me." 

"You  speak  as  if  love  were  a  thing  to  be  forced,"  said 
Alice,  a  little  indignantly.  She  was  only  twenty-one,  and 
at  twenty-one  we  are  prone  to  look  upon  love  as  a  heaven- 
born  gift,  independent  of  any  earthly  circumstances,  such 
as  propinquity  and  financial  considerations. 

"What  a  child  you  are!"  he  said  indulgently.  "I  be- 
lieve that  any  man  in  the  world,  if  he  is  really  in  love 
with  a  woman,  can  force  her  to  respond,  unless  her  affec- 
tions are  engaged  elsewhere,  and  even  then,  if  he  is 
clever,  and  not  too  ill-looking,  and  willing  to  exert  him- 
self in  pleasing  her,  he  may  have  a  good  chance  to  win 
out.  For  this  reason,  if  for  no  other,  a  man  should  have 
a  variety  of  love  affairs  before  he  thinks  of  marrying,  for 
in  no  other  way  can  he  learn  all  the  clever  tricks,  the 


THE    GREATER    JOY  107 

dainty  artifices,  the  little  enticements  by  which  love 
lives." 

"You  are  terrible,"  said  Alice.  "Love  is  nothing  to 
you  but  a  matter  of  calculation.  You  leave  nothing  to 
the  heart,  nothing  to  the  affections." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  he  retorted.  "I  believe  in  the  af- 
fections, although  what  is  commonly  called  heart  is 
merely  an  amalgamation  of  the  senses  and  the  mentality. 
But  I  am  waiting  for  your  answer  ?  Will  you  consent  to 
be  my  sweetheart?" 

It  seemed  to  Alice  that  she  was  living  in  a  dream.  It 
had  never  occurred  to  her  that  any  man  would  attempt 
to  talk  to  her  in  this  way.  She  had  believed,  whenever 
she  had  heard  of  some  girl  who  had  gone  wrong,  that 
it  must  be  the  girl's  fault,  wholly  and  entirely,  no  matter 
what  well-meaning  folks  said  to  the  contrary.  She  had 
always  supposed  that  about  "that  sort  of  a  man"  there 
must  be  some  monstrous  aura,  some  visible,  tangible, 
horrible  something  to  warn  everybody  of  his  inner  rot- 
tenness. Certainly  she  had  always  supposed  such  a  man 
to  be  vulgar,  to  behave  in  a  blatantly  vulgar  manner,  to 
be  ill-bred,  stupid,  and  ordinary  in  every  way. 

And  here  was  this  aristocratic,  brilliant  stranger,  who 
was  quite  the  most  wonderful  creature  she  had  ever  met, 
and  he  was  asking  her  quite  calmly,  in  a  charmingly  well- 
bred  manner,  and  with  the  most  engaging  frankness,  to 
be — his  mistress  ! 

She  wanted  to  repulse  him,  and  she  did  not  know  how. 
There  had  been  moments  when  she  had  wished  to  hurt 
him.  But  she  did  not  wish  to  pain  him  at  present.  She 
wanted  to  be  soft  and  sweet  with  him,  and  yet  say  him 
nay.  She  reflected  that  it  had  been  wrong  of  her  to  come 
with  him  to-day,  since  he  had  already  asked  her  to  come 


108  THE    GREATER    JOY 

to  his  rooms,  and  that  certainly  should  have  been  a  suffi- 
cient indication  of  his  intentions. 

She  should  be  feeling  indignation,  contempt,  and  she 
felt  neither.  At  least  she  should  have  regarded  him  as 
an  enemy.  And  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  do  this. 
Always  and  always  that  strange,  wonderful  feeling  of 
physical  nearness  to  him  brushed  over  her,  and  filled  her 
with  a  sensation  which  she  could  not  compare  to  any 
other,  because  it  was  sweeter  and  more  delicious  than 
anything  she  had  ever  experienced  or  had  ever  dreamed 
of. 

She  had  thought  that  to  be  in  love  would  be  very  dif- 
ferent. She  had  believed  love  to  be  a  sort  of  sublimated 
admiration,  friendship  on  an  exalted  and  exaggerated 
plane,  but  she  had  never  believed  or  thought  that  it  could 
induce  such  a  feeling  of  delicious  happiness  and  joy. 

"You  have  not  answered  me,"  said  Ulrich. 

She  took  herself  in  hand  vigorously. 

"Doctor  von  Dette,"  she  said,  "I  am  very  sorry  you 
are  saying  these  things  to  me.  Can  we  not  live  just  for 
to-day,  and  not  think  of  the  future?" 

"I  cannot  think  of  the  future  without  you,"  he  said. 

"You  are  very  cruel,"  said  Alice.  "I  realize  that  your 
rank  is  a  gulf  between  us." 

"It  is  no  gulf  at  all,  unless  you  do  not  care  for  me." 

"I  do  care  for  you,"  she  said  in  a  low,  frightened  voice. 
"Please,  dear  Ulrich,  do  not  let  us  continue  this  conver- 
sation.    It  frightens  me." 

Watching  her,  the  doctor  reflected  that  this  might  be 
some  feminine  feint  intended  to  prolong  his  suspense  and 
to  place  her  in  the  light  of  not  appearing  over  eager. 
The  thought  no  sooner  occurred  to  him  than  he  con- 
cluded this  must  be  the  correct  solution  of  her  diffidence. 
In  view  of  his  offer  of  marriage,  this  made  him  angry. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  109 

He  wished  he  had  not  mentioned  Sylvia's  name.  Evi- 
dently this  girl  did  not  in  the  least  appreciate  what  it 
meant  for  a  prince  of  the  blood  to  offer  her  even  a  mor- 
ganatic marriage.  Of  course  he  had  not  really  meant 
to  marry  her,  even  morganatically,  but  he  had  expected 
her  to  believe  his  offer  sincere,  and  he  was  sure  she  did 
believe  it  sincere.  He  wondered  whether  he  had  been 
mistaken  in  her.  He  had  believed  her  the  sort  of  woman 
who  perceiving  a  willingness  on  the  part  of  the  man  to 
make  a  sacrifice,  even  the  most  trifling,  will,  in  order  not 
to  be  outdone  in  generosity,  offer  to  make  the  most  ex- 
travagant sacrifices  for  his  sake. 

His  avowal  of  love,  however,  had  been  sincere,  and  it 
mortified  him  keenly  to  perceive  the  placidity  with  which 
she  had  accepted  this.  Doubtless  he  had  cheapened  him- 
self in  her  eyes,  since  women  rarely  appreciated  sincerity 
and  gentleness,  preferring  the  masterly,  lordly  hand,  the 
lover  who  never  completely  loses  control  of  himself  in 
whose  words  there  is  always  a  germ  of  hypocrisy. 

Suddenly  she  said : 

"I  am  deeply  grateful  to  you.  I  realize  now  that  you 
care  for  me  more  than  you  have  cared  for  any  one  else, 
as  you  said  before,  when  I  would  not  believe  you." 

Not  knowing  what  was  agitating  her,  her  words 
seemed  to  him  insufferably  arrogant.     He  replied  coldly : 

"Naturally  I  was  sincere.  No  man  cares  for  any  two 
women  in  the  same  way.  You  have  entertained  me  re- 
gally as  no  other  woman  ever  did  before,  because  you 
did  not  arouse  my  amorous  propensities  to  the  degree 
that  a  day  spent  alone  with  another  woman  would  have 
done." 

He  spoke  the  exact  truth  in  saying  this,  yet  it  is  by  the 
garb  in  which  we  clothe  truth,  that  we  give  it  its  com- 
plexion.    And  he  knew  very  well  that  that  which  in  his 


110  THE    GREATER    JOY 

eyes  so  inimitably  increased  her  charm  and  made  her 
precious  to  him,  she,  in  her  imperfect  reading  of  him, 
would  construe  as  a  deficiency  in  herself,  something  that 
made  him  love  her  less. 

"In  pursuing  what  I  thought  would  be  an  agreeable 
amour,"  he  soliloquized  that  evening,  "I  have  discovered 
the  woman  who  will  change  the  face  of  the  universe  for 
me,  who  will  make  of  love  a  rite,  an  ecstasy,  a  fitting  cul- 
mination of  a  great  lyric  poem,  whose  rhythm  is  the 
pulsing  of  the  blood,  whose  words  are  heart-beats,  whose 
phrases  are  the  immeasurable,  vibrant  immensity  into 
which  lovers  are  plunged  by  their  kisses." 


CHAPTER  VI 

Ulrich's  annoyance  did  not  wear  away.  He  was  not 
impetuous  as  a  rule,  and  he  was  almost  ashamed  of  him- 
self for  having  allowed  his  passion  to  carry  him  off  his 
feet.  He  could  not  deny  to  himself  that  failure  to  win 
the  girl  would  make  him  intolerably  miserable.  He 
wanted  her,  every  fibre  of  her.  Never,  in  all  his  wild  life, 
had  he  desired  any  woman  as  ardently  as  he  desired  this 
snow-white  creature,  this  snow-dipped  girl  with  her  halo 
of  lightly  smoked  meerschaum-colored  hair. 

He  was  filled  with  bitter  resentment  because  she  had 
repulsed  him.  He  determined  now  to  mortify  her  in 
some  way  or  other,  to  subject  her  to  cruel  manoeuvres, 
since  she  did  not  appreciate  mildness  and  kindness.  It 
was  with  this  determination  to  hurt  her  rampant  within 
him  that  he  entered  the  library  the  following  Tuesday 
morning. 

"I  have  made  an  egregious  ass  of  myself,"  he  thought, 
as  he  sat  down  beside  her.  "I  shall,  after  seeing  her 
daily  for  another  week,  discover  some  imperfection 
which  will  disgust  me,  annoy  me,  and  make  me  loathe 
her."  He  watched  her  closely,  as  she  read  aloud  some 
notes  which  ostensibly  he  wanted  to  compare  with  his 
own,  and  was  amazed  anew  at  her  sweetness  and  charm, 
the  bloom  upon  her  skin,  the  perfection  of  her  rounded 
bosom,  the  wonderful  harmony  of  her  face.  The  circles 
under  her  eyes,  set  deeply  in  her  head,  showed  plainly 
this  morning  her  fatigue,  and  this  sign  of  lassitude,  due 
to  exertion  or  unrest  of  some  sort,  lashed  his  passion  into 
a  new  whirlpool  of  heat,  into  a  cauldron  of  turbulence. 

Ill 


112  THE    GREATER    JOY 

He  became  frightened.  "I  love  her  even  more  than  I 
thought."  It  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  run  mad  or 
fall  seriously  ill  if  she  persisted  in  rejecting  him.  He 
felt  at  that  moment  that  if  she  refused  him,  he  might  be 
capable  of  killing  her. 

She  met  his  eyes  at  this  instant,  and  the  terror  that 
swept  over  her  on  seeing  the  expression  in  his  eyes  and 
face  deepened  her  own  orbs  until  the  blue  iris  was  almost 
as  dark  as  the  pupil. 

"Don't,  please !"  she  murmured  faintly. 

"Don't  what?"  he  asked  brutally.  As  she  did  not  re- 
ply, he  continued  mercilessly. 

"You  must  not  attach  too  much  importance  to  my  ut- 
terances of  Sunday.  Of  course,  I  am  very  fond  of  you, 
but,  after  all,  you  are  very  much  like  other  women.  One 
woman  is  as  good  as  another." 

"Why,  then  I ?"  she  asked,  goaded  into  incaution. 

"You  are  the  available  woman,"  he  replied  noncha- 
lantly, flecking  a  bit  of  tobacco  from  the  lapel  of  his  coat. 

Alice  flushed. 

"Your  theory  is  monstrous,"  she  said  angrily.  "If  you 
think  to  win  me  by  such  brutality,  you  are  mistaken." 

Her  mortification  was  balm  to  his  wounded  pride. 

"How  do  you  know  that  I  am  really  so  very  eager  to 

win  you  ?     I  may  be  merely  amusing  myself,  keeping  my 

hand  in  practice  in  the  art  of  wooing.     In  spite  of  your 

beauty,  which  is  undeniable,  you  may  not  be  the  sort  of 

7  woman  that  men  rave  about." 

\      "You  are— oh — atrocious." 

"Because  I  disavow  any  intention  of  wrong  toward 
you?  You  are  hard  to  please.  Your  quarrel  Sunday, 
when  you  believed  I  wanted  you,  was,  I  believe,  with  my 
immorality." 

"At  any  rate,  I  refuse  to  continue  this  conversation." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  113 

The  color  was  going  and  comir  on  her  cheek  with 
nervousness.  ' 

"Do  you  also  refuse  to  allow  me  to  continue  it  ?  I  am 
quite  satisfied  to  do  the  talking  and  have  you  simply 
listen,  for,  since  I  converse  well,  and  you  do  not,  I  prefer 
to  have  you  remain  silent/' 

"You  baffle  me.  If  I  allow  you  to  continue  speaking, 
it  is  only  because  my  curiosity  is  piqued,  and  I  desire  to 
learn  why  you  are  so  wantonly  rude  to  me  to-day." 

He  smiled  derisively ;  derision,  too,  seemed  to  be  in  his 
glance,  when  he  answered : 

"My  rudeness  is  really  a  compliment.  It  presupposes 
that  other  men  have  so  spoiled  you  with  candied  compli- 
ments that,  in  order  to  impress  you,  it  is  necessary  to 
affect  rudeness  of  speech." 

"I'll  waive  that  reason,  since  you  must  not  believe  that 
I  am  so  simple-minded  as  to  think  it  the  true  one.  But 
if  my  conversation  is  really  so  little  pleasing  to  you,  why 
do  you  bother  with  me — waste  your  time  on  me?" 

"Because  you  are  a  beautiful  woman,  perhaps  the  most 
perfectly  beautiful  woman  I  have  ever  seen.  And  be- 
cause perfect  beauty  is  always  adorable,  whether  in  a  pic- 
ture, a  melody,  a  poem,  a  woman." 

"The  latter  particularly?" 

"Of  course — the  latter  particularly,  and  I  will  tell  you 
why.  A  beautiful  woman  has  always  an  element  of  pre- 
ciousness  which  other  forms  of  beauty  lack." 

"I  do  not  follow  you,"  said  Alice,  off  her  guard  again. 

"I  am  glad  you  admit  the  limitations  of  your  under- 
standing." 

She  brushed  that  affront  aside,  lest,  in  noticing  it,  he 
begin  to  moralize  on  woman's  vanity.  She  was  horribly 
afraid,  she  found,  of  not  only  himself,  but  of  his  wit. 

"Unless  the  element  of  preciousness  you  refer  to,"  she 


114  THE    GREATER    JOY 

said,  seeing  that  he  did  not  offer  to  explain,  "is  that  a 
beautiful  woman  is — well,  always  presents  certain  possi- 
bilities to  a  man." 

Ulrich  looked  at  her  coldly.  They  might  have  been 
utter  strangers,  meeting  for  the  first  time,  so  aloof  was 
the  look  with  which  he  fixed  her. 

"How  much  more  sensual-minded  women  are  than 
men!"  he  said  disdainfully.  "Here  we  are,  in  the  midst 
of  an  ethical  dissertation,  and  you  make  a  remark  that  is 
raw  and  banal." 

Alice  became  very  angry.  She  was  so  angry  that  she 
could  not  speak.  Such  anger,  she  thought,  must  propel 
the  murderer. 

What  a  beast  he  was !  She  was  glad  that  she  had  re- 
fused him.  But  as  she  watched  his  dark,  handsome  face, 
looking  into  a  corner  of  the  room  with  the  utmost  placid- 
ity, she  knew  that  she  was  not  honest  with  herself. 
Heavens  and  earth — how  she  loved  him ! 

Having  finished  lighting  a  cigarette,  the  doctor  con- 
tinued impassively : 

"The  element  of  preciousness  I  refer  to  as  existing  in 
a  woman's  beauty  is  its  perishable  quality.  Take  your- 
self, for  instance.  To-day  you  are  a  Venus.  Twenty, 
years  hence  you  will  either  be  as  lean  as  a  pole,  or  dis- 
agreeably fat.  At  any  rate,  you  will  be  ungainly.  Your 
hair  will  be  streaked  with  gray,  possibly  it  will  be  thin 
and  partially  reveal  the  scalp,  and  your  contours,  so  ex- 
quisite and  alluring  to-day,  will  be  ridiculous,  repulsive, 
a  matter  of  jest  among  the  younger  generation." 

Tears  arose  in  Alice's  eyes.  He  was  intolerable !  No, 
suffer  what  she  might,  she  would  not  let  him  see  her  cry. 
She  would  not  afford  him  the  satisfaction  of  gloating 
over  the  misery  he  inflicted.  She  spoke  bravely,  almost 
diffidently. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  115 

"To-day  at  least  I  am  beautiful,  and  men  do  not  ridi- 
cule me  just  yet — they  adore  me." 

"How  many  of  them?" 

His  chicanery  was  amazing.  She  turned  and  met  his 
sneer. 

"Oh,  a  few  of  them."  She  succeeded  admirably  in 
feigning  the  diffidence  which  she  was  far  from  feeling. 

"Yes,  a  few — you  are  right,  a  few.  Out  of  the  hun- 
dreds of  men  you  have  met,  how  many  have  cared  for 
you  ?  And  of  those  who  have  cared  for  you,  how  many 
have  cared  for  you  lastingly?  Reflect  upon  this.  It 
will  depreciate  your  own  good  opinion  of  yourself." 

Alice's  wrath  exploded.  "I  am  by  no  means  the  con- 
ceited idiot  you  take  me  for,"  she  said  angrily.  "I  can- 
not help  knowing  I  am  beautiful.  You  yourself  admit 
that,  in  spite  of  your  effrontery." 

"There  you  are  again !  Your  beauty  once  more.  It's 
a  common-place  by  this  time.  But  remember,  the  aver- 
age man  has  so  deformed  an  esthetic  sense,  an  imagina- 
tion so  crippled,  so  degenerate  and  inactive,  that  supreme 
ugliness,  ten  to  one,  would  fascinate  him  much  more  than 
perfect  beauty.  And  I  myself  admit,  if  a  woman  could 
be  found  who  would  be  the  embodiment  of  ugliness,  I  be- 
lieve, for  the  sake  of  variety,  as  a  lash  to  my  jaded  appe- 
tite, she,  not  you " 

"I  refuse  to  listen.     Let  us  go  on  with  the  work." 

"You  refuse  to  listen  because  I  depreciate  your  value. 
You  will  listen  to  anything  but  that." 

The  girl  laughed  hysterically.  He  was  wearing  her 
out.  His  resourcefulness  was  appalling.  She  felt  her- 
self unequal  to  continue  the  fencing  bout.  Yet  she 
forced  herself  to  say  mildly : 

"Wait  until  the  next  time  you  pay  me  a  compliment 
and  see  whether  that  remark  is  justifiable." 


116  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"The  next  time  I  pay  you  a  compliment  ?  Have  I  then 
paid  you  so  many?  Certainly  not  to-day.  And  aren't 
you  inviting  a  compliment  from  me  now — just  to  prove, 
of  course,  that  you  won't  listen?" 

"Yes,  of  course,"  she  said,  hoping  to  take  the  wind  out 
of  his  sails.  "Of  course,  I  am  waiting  eagerly  for  your 
next  compliment." 

"Well,  how  many  have  I  paid  you  ?  You  haven't  an- 
swered that  question." 

"I  really  cannot  clog  up  my  memory  trying  to  remem- 
ber all  your  empty  chatter." 

He  feigned  a  tremendous  amazement. 

"Positively,  Alice,  that's  almost  clever.  Your  wits  are 
being  sharpened  by  contact  with  mine." 

"That  is  strange.  Friction  with  so  highly  polished, 
keen  an  instrument  as  your  brain,  one  would  imagine 
would  cut  to  wee  little  bits  a  poor  little  intellect  like 
mine." 

"Positively,  that  is  clever." 

"That  is  a  compliment,"  she  smiled.  "  I  refuse  to  con- 
tinue the  conversation.     To  our  work." 

"No,"  he  replied,  regarding  her  fixedly,  "I  don't  want 
to  work.  I'm  sick  to  death  of  this  everlasting  medical 
paraphernalia.  I  have  that  with  me  every  day  in  the 
year,  day  and  night,  but  I  cannot  look  at  you,  speak  to 
you  every  hour  of  the  day  and  night." 

"Has  it  occurred  to  you  how  unpleasant  it  might  be 
if  I  reported  your  impudence  ?" 

"No,  you  wouldn't  do  that,  Alice.  You  are  too  honest 
to  report  pilfering  of  sweets  in  which  you  yourself 
have  participated." 

"Are  you  obtuse  enough  to  imagine  I  have  enjoyed  this 
morning  ?" 

"Of  course  you  have.     I'm  a  novelty,  if  nothing  else. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  117 

Confess,  dearest,  you  have  never  met  any  one  like  me 
before." 

She  looked  at  him,  he  at  her.  She  laughed.  He  had 
hoped  she  would  fling  herself  into  his  arms,  but  her  laugh 
told  him  that  she  was  cool  and  self-contained.  He  de- 
cided to  resort  to  desperate  measures;  his  passion  was 
blinding  him ;  he  forgot  the  place,  the  hour,  forgot  every- 
thing but  that  he  loved  her  to  madness.  He  caught  her 
in  his  arms,  and  smothered  her  with  kisses,  his  mouth 
travelling  with  inconceivable  violence  and  rapidity  over 
her  lips,  her  cheeks,  her  eyes,  her  forehead,  finally  fasten- 
ing themselves,  like  barnacles,  like  lichen,  upon  her 
throat,  threatening  to  strangle  her,  to  suffocate  her,  to 
choke  her,  like  some  deadly  parasite. 

She  struggled  against  him  in  vain.  Her  strength  was 
no  match  for  his.  Realizing  the  futility  of  her  efforts, 
she  abandoned  herself  to  his  kisses  in  a  state  of  passivity, 
being  neither  hostile  nor  eager,  wondering  at  her  indif- 
ference. 

Finally  he  set  her  free.  He  was  prepared  for  a  terrific 
outburst  from  her  of  some  kind.  But  as  he  relinquished 
her,  she  suddenly  realized  the  full  import  of  her  passivity 
— in  cold  blood  she  had  felt  no  loathing  of  the  violence 
he  had  displayed,  no  disgust  at  the  virulence  of  his  emo- 
tions. "I  love  him,"  she  said  to  herself,  with  conviction. 
"If  I  did  not,  I  would  detest  him  after  this." 

All  the  while  he  was  watching  her  furtively,  wonder- 
ing what  she  would  do  or  say  to  vindicate  her  modesty, 
her  virtue.     He  was  disappointed. 

She  gathered  up  her  few  personal  possessions,  a  silver 
pen-holder,  a  little  pocket  knife — he  noted  that  she 
slipped  the  blade  carefully  into  its  sheath — and  then  went 
to  the  door.  He,  seeing  her  intention,  arose,  and  got 
there  before  she  did. 


118  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Are  you  very  angry?"  he  asked,  seriously  alarmed, 
his  hand  on  the  knob. 

"I  am  not  angry  at  all,"  she  replied  tranquilly. 

Surprised,  not  understanding,  somewhat  cowed  by  her 
unruffled  calm,  he  opened  the  door  for  her. 

"That,"  she  said  calmly,  "is  the  reason  I  shall  never  see 
you  again/' 


CHAPTER  VII 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Alice  rejoiced  that  she 
had  a  small  independent  income. 

Securing  her  immediate  dismissal  from  the  hospital,  on 
the  plea  of  overwork  and  ill-health,  she  left  New  York 
within  forty-eight  hours  for  a  small  hotel  in  the  country, 
where  she  had  summered  before.  She  was  in  a  frame  of 
mind  which  defies  description.  She  no  longer  attempted 
to  delude  herself  into  believing  that  the  situation,  as  far 
as  her  own  affections  were  concerned,  lay  within  her  con- 
trol. A  perfect  tempest  of  terror  came  over  her  at  the 
mere  thought  of  again  encountering  the  doctor. 

She  had  vaguely  hoped  that  a  change  of  scene  might 
bring  about  a  change  of  spirits.  But  she  was  in  that 
morbid  mental  condition  when  direction  of  thought  is  no 
longer  under  control. 

Everything  reminded  her  of  the  man  who  had  stormed 
her  heart  with  such  incredible  swiftness.  She  could  not 
look  upon  a  certain  pallid  complexion,  without  thinking 
of  him,  or  upon  cream-colored  shirts  or  striped  neckties, 
or  cloth  of  a  certain  design.  She  could  not  see  a  rose, 
but  it  reminded  her  of  that  memorable  Sunday.  A  green 
tree  recalled  the  wistaria  pavilion.  She  could  not,  in 
brief,  drag  her  thoughts  away  from  him,  no  matter  what 
she  saw  or  where  she  was,  and  so  it  happened  that  the 
most  inoffensive  and  irrelevant  article  became,  to  her  ex- 
cited imagination,  deeply  reminiscent  of  her  lover. 

Even  the  guests  at  the  hotel  failed  to  arouse  her  inter- 
est.   The  impact  of  Ulricas  personality  upon  her  own 

119 


120  THE    GREATER   JOY 

had  been  so  pervasively  powerful,  he  had  impinged  upon 
her  so  profoundly,  that  it  surrounded  her,  as  it  were,  with 
a  crust,  or  coat  of  armor,  which  shut  out  the  rest  of  the 
world  effectually,  and  kept  other  personalities  from  mak- 
ing the  slightest  impression. 

She  spent  a  miserable  fortnight.  She  thought  at  first 
that  he  would  follow  her,  that,  in  some  way,  he  would 
succeed  in  locating  her.  Mad  thoughts  came  to  her. 
Why,  if  he  really  loved  her,  did  he  not  kidnap  her  ?  She 
imagined  what  she  would  have  done  if  she  had  been  a 
man. 

One  afternoon,  on  returning  from  a  walk,  she  was 
greeted  by  the  bell-boy  with  the  news  that  a  gentleman 
was  waiting  in  the  parlor  to  see  her.  He  handed  her  a 
small  envelope,  which  was  sealed. 

Breaking  the  envelope,  she  read  : 

"Sylvia  is  very  ill,  and  is  asking  incessantly  for  'the 
beautiful  blonde  nurse/  Please  do  me  the  courtesy  to  be- 
lieve me.  I  am  writing  the  truth.  I  entreat  you  to  see 
me  for  five  minutes.    Ulrich." 

It  was  possible,  of  course,  that  this  was  a  mere  subter- 
fuge, but  Alice  believed  that  he  had  written  the  truth. 
Her  heart  was  beating  so  madly  that  she  could  not  go  in 
to  see  him  at  once.  So  she  stood  in  the  hallway,  appar- 
ently busy  with  another  letter,  but  really  seeking  only  to 
quell  the  tumult  which  had  arisen  within  her. 

At  last  she  went  into  the  room  where  he  was  wait- 
ing. She  at  once  noticed  the  extraordinary  pallor  of  his 
face,  the  gravity  of  his  expression.  He  bowed  and 
said: 

"Thank  you  for  seeing  me.  Sylvia  is  very  ill  indeed. 
You  will  remember  the  day  we  met  the  first  time — you 
and  she,  you  and  I — she  wanted  you  to  promise  that  you 
would  nurse  her  should  she  ever  fall  ill." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  121 

His  voice  was  very  humble.  She  felt  within  her  a  sort 
o£  fierce  arrogance. 

"I  never  intended  to  go  out  nursing,"  she  replied  al- 
most insolently.  "I  took  up  nursing  as  a  preliminary 
breaking  in  for  the  study  of  medicine — because  I  wanted 
an  occupation." 

She  was  going  to  add  that  she  had  some  means,  but  it 
struck  her  that  in  doing  so  she  might  sound  a  note  of 
vulgarity ;  and  she  had  no  desire  to  appear  a  vulgarian  in 
his  eyes. 

"I  understand  that,"  he  answered  in  a  most  concilia- 
tory tone.  "Nor  did  we  intend  to  ask  you  to  do  any  of 
the  actual  nursing.  All  I  ask,  for  Sylvia's  sake,  is  that 
you  come  and  supervise  the  other  nurses,  and  remain 
with  her  when  she  is  conscious,  as  a  companion.  She 
is  very  ill.     It  is  pitiable  to  hear  her  beg  for  you." 

Still  Alice  fenced  and  parried. 

"The  Baroness  and  I  have  met  only  once,"  she  said. 
"How  can  she  have  such  an  overwhelming  desire  to  have 
me  near  her?  Surely  she  has  friends,  real  friends, 
friends  of  her  own  rank,  of  her  own  class." 

He  did  not  reply,  and  Alice,  finally  forced,  she  knew 
not  by  what  occult  power,  to  raise  her  eyes,  saw  a  pained 
expression  in  his  face — an  expression  which  was  purely 
humane,  and  which  had  in  it  nothing  of  sex.  She  had 
not  thought  him  capable  of  the  kind-heartedness  thus 
I  suddenly  revealed.  But  instead  of  softening  her,  it  only 
made  her  the  harder,  more  supercilious,  more  keen  to 
inflict  pain  on  him.     His  dignity  of  manner  irritated  her. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said  in  a  frigid,  insincere  voice,  "that 
!  you  are  so  worried  about  your  cousin." 

Still  he  did  not  speak.  The  air  between  them  seemed 
almost  to  palpably  pulsate,  to  vibrate  audibly.  Without 
an  effort  to  veil  her  sarcasm,  she  said : 


122  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"You  seem  extremely  grieved  about  her/' 

"I  am  extremely  grieved,"  he  replied  without  hesita- 
tions "I  am  very  fond  of  Sylvia.  But  I  am  more  grieved 
about  you  than  about  her." 

Alice  colored.  It  was  she  who  made  no  reply  this 
time,  but  waited  for  him  to  continue.     He  went  on : 

"You  have  every  right  to  doubt  my  word — if  you  wish 
to.  I  may  have  given  you  cause.  I  do  not  know.  But 
you  will  pardon  my  telling  you  frankly  that  you  should 
be  enough  of  a  woman  to  speak  out  and  say  so  candidly, 
and  not  make  yourself  appear  unwomanly,  inhuman 
even,  by  showing  yourself  entirely  unmoved  on  hearing 
of  the  serious  illness  of  a  woman,  who,  although  she  has 
not  the  pleasure  and  honor  of  being  a  friend  of  yours, 
has  frequently  expressed  her  desire  to  me  to  become  your 
friend." 

"And  you  dissuaded  her  from  seeing  me?"  Alice  sud- 
denly interrupted. 
•    "Naturally." 

"You  have  the  audacity  to  tell  me  that?" 

"You  seem  to  construe  it  as  an  insult." 

"What  else?  A  compliment?"  she  demanded  viciously. 

He  smiled  bitterly. 

"I  would  like  to  accuse  you  of  lack  of  delicacy,  Miss 

Vaughn,  but,  losing  at  the  game  with  you "     He  was 

speaking  now  with  apparent  effort — "Do  you  imagine 
how  disagreeable  the  situation  might  have  become  for 
the  three  of  us  ?" 

Alice  by  this  time  was  furious.  She  took  no  pains  to 
disguise  her  anger. 

"And  if  I  had  lost  at  the  game,"  she  retorted,  "I  sup- 
pose I  would  not  have  been  a  fit  companion  for  your 
cousin." 

"Pardon  me,"  interrupted  Ulrich.    "You  forget.    I  of- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  123 

fered  you  marriage.  I  see  no  reason  why  my  cousin  and 
my  wife  should  not  be  good  friends.  Nor  do  I  see  any 
reason  why  my  cousin  and  my  sweetheart  should  nots 
have  been  good  friends.  But  before  I  had  secured  your 
affection,  gained  you,  you  understand,  as  one  or  the  other, 
the  thought  of  meeting  you  in  the  presence  of  a  third 
person,  constrained  by  conventionality,  was  quite  intoler- 
able.,, 

Alice  was  struck  by  the  sincerity  with  which  he  spoke. 

"You  are  right,"  she  said  slowly.  "It  would  have  been 
intolerable." 

Having  said  this,  she  caught  her  breath  quickly,  for 
:  she  realized  that  he  would  have  been  justified  as  con- 
I  struing  them  as  an  admission  on  her  part.     But  he  com- 
pletely   ignored   the    lead    she   had    unwittingly    given 
*  him. 

"You  have  made  a  very  deep  impression  upon  Sylvia," 
he  continued.  "The  matter  simply  resolves  itself  into 
this.  I  believe  you  to  be  a  good,  kind-hearted  girl,  and 
I  do  not  believe  that  you  are  capable  of  deliberately  doing 
an  unkind  action.  If  you  refuse  to  go  to  Sylvia's  bed- 
side, I  shall  believe  that  you  do  so  thinking  that  her  ill- 
ness is  a  lie.  I  cannot  hope  to  convince  you  of  the  truth 
of  my  words.     All  I  can  do  is  to  ask  you  to  believe  me." 

Alice  looked  at  him,  leaning  back  against  the  mantel, 
the  marble  coldness  of  which  chilled  the  heat  of  her  head. 
In  her  blue  eyes  was  an  inflexible,  steely  look.  He 
thought  she  was  going  to  refuse.  Instead  she  said  sim- 
ply: 

"I  will  come." 

"Thank  you." 

He  arose. 

"I  voluntarily  promise  you  that  while  you  are  under 
my  roof  I  will  trouble  you  in  no  way." 


1U  THE    GREATER    JOY 

There  was  about  him  a  spirit  of  abnegation,  making 
him  appear  a  stranger,  making  him  seem  inaccessible, 
aloof  and  distant. 

From  his  pocket  he  drew  a  time-table  and  a  railroad 
ticket.  He  placed  them  on  the  table,  and  pushed  them 
across  to  her,  thus  avoiding  the  necessity  of  approaching 
her.  She  perceived  with  growing  anger  every  little  de- 
tail of  his  attempt  at  self-control. 

"We  are  still  in  New  York/'  he  said.  "There  are 
trains  every  two  hours.  I  am  leaving  on  the  seven 
o'clock  train.  I  do  not  suppose  you  will  wish  to  take 
that?" 

The  girl's  eyes  blazed  with  annoyance.  She  regretted 
having  promised  to  go  to  Sylvia.  His  placidity  annoyed 
her  beyond  measure.  Seemingly,  she  was  more  agitated 
at  meeting  him  again  than  he  was.  His  demeanor  was 
all  decorum  and  ease.  She  forgot  in  the  fever  of  the 
moment  that  while  his  coming  had  been  a  surprise  to 
her,  he  had  had  time  to  prepare  for  this  meeting.  She 
remembered  with  a  little  thrill  her  curious  tranquillity 
whenever  he  had  become  ardent  through  desire.  Was 
she,  conversely,  to  be  plagued  by  passion  when  he,  as  at 
present,  was  serene  and  decorous?  The  thought  so  an- 
noyed her  that  she  neglected  to  reply  to  his  inquiry.  He 
repeated  it,  using  precisely  the  same  words  which  had 
offended  her  before. 

"I  do  not  suppose  you  will  want  to  take  the  seven 
o'clock  train?" 

"Why  not?" 

She  was  aghast  at  her  own  audacity. 

He  looked  at  her  without  speaking.  His  eyes  flashed 
fire;  at  times  they  had  an  angry  gleam.  Still  he  con- 
trolled himself. 

Quickly  she  said: 


THE    GREATER    JOY  125 

"You  evidently  do  not  wish  me  to  take  the  same  train 
as  yourself." 

"Candidly,  I  do  not,"  he  answered  abruptly. 

His  tone  betrayed  no  inward  agitation.  He  was 
Sphinx-like  in  his  calm  immobility.  Her  pride  alone 
checked  the  outbreak  of  temper  which  seemed  imminent. 

"I  shall  be  ready  in  time  for  the  nine  o'clock  train," 
she  said  curtly. 

The  decisive  ring  of  her  own  voice  gave  her  courage. 
Determination  rilled  her  with  an  almost  savage  joy.  At 
least  she  was  paying  him  back  in  his  own  coin.  Briefly, 
she  continued: 

"You  will,  I  suppose,  have  a  carriage  waiting  for  me  ? 
I  will  also  ask  you  to  kindly  see  that  a  warm  bath  is 
ready  for  me  when  I  arrive,  or  I  shall  be  no  good  in  my 
professional  capacity  after  three  hours  on  the  train." 

She  was  speaking  authoritatively  in  a  tone  which 
might  have  been  employed  toward  a  refractory  menial, 
scarcely  to  an  upper  servant. 

She  had  expected  him  to  flush,  to  answer  her  sav- 
agely, perhaps  break  out  incoherently  with  more  protes- 
tations of  love.  Perhaps  she  had  hoped  to  invoke  the 
latter.  She  hardly  knew  herself.  Certainly  she  did  not 
know  the  infinitesimal  shades  of  character  of  the  man 
she  loved,  and  of  the  many  weapons  at  his  command. 
This  time  he  chose  sarcasm  as  his  weapon. 

"Madame  la  Princesse  has  but  to  command,"  he  said, 
bowing  low,  a  bow  so  obsequious  that  it  was  an  anachro- 
nism in  any  one  not  costumed  for  the  genuflection.  "The 
bath  shall  be  ready.  What  temperature  does  her  Royal 
Highness  desire?" 

She  had  not  believed  him  capable  of  submerging  his 
gravity  so  completely;  she  had  not  believed  him  to  be 
master  of  his  emotions  to  the  extent  of  indulging  in  inno- 


126  THE    GREATER    JOY^ 

cent  tomfoolery.  His  facetiousness  irritated  her.  She 
became  more  and  more  angry.  It  was  sufficiently  hu- 
miliating to  have  him  come  for  her  ostensibly  for  Sylvia's 
sake,  really  because  he  wanted  her  himself,  but  it  was 
utterly  insufferable  to  see  him  so  self-contained  and  at 
ease,  his  mind  so  unruffled  by  passion  as  to  be  able  to 
tease  her.     Tease  her! 

She  tried  hard  to  keep  silent,  because  she  felt  that,  in 
her  present  frame  of  mind,  she  would  say  something  that 
would  show  him  how  deeply  she  was  hurt.  But  the  task 
was  beyond  her.    The  words  fell  from  her  lips : 

"It  will  not  be  necessary  to  exact  a  promise  that  you 
will  not  even  try  to  see  me  while  I  am  nursing  Sylvia. 
iYour  present  indifference  is  a  sufficient  guarantee.,, 

She  saw  him  laugh.  She  did  not  hear  the  laughter, 
for  she  was  choking  back  the  tears  that  were  rising. 
How  could  she  so  betray  herself !  What  a  fool  she  was ! 
How  he  would  despise  her  for  hurling  herself  back  at 
him  when  evidently  he  had  all  but  forgotten  her — had 
remembered  her  only,  more  likely  than  not,  because  Syl- 
via was  ill  and  clamored  for  her  and  must  be  indulged. 

Her  vision  was  blinded  with  the  dew  of  unshed  tears. 
She  was  trembling  like  an  aspen  leaf.  Suddenly  she  felt 
that  her  trembling  was  forcibly  stopped  by  a  pair  of 
strong  arms  which  encircled  her  shoulders,  and  the  next 
moment,  her  head  resting  on  von  Dette's  shoulder,  she 
was  crying  her  heart  out.  She  felt  his  mouth  upon  the 
nape  of  her  neck — the  same  spot  where  he  had  kissed  her 
before.  His  lips  were  voracious,  seemed  to  eat  into  her 
flesh.  He  did  not  wait  for  her  to  finish  her  weeping,  but 
bending  back  her  head,  kissed  her  wildly,  tears  and  all, 
upon  lips,  eyes,  cheeks,  upon  her  neck,  upon  her  bosom, 
through  the  thin  white  lingerie  waist. 

She  struggled  wildly  to  free  herself  yet  she  was  too 


THE    GREATER    JOY  127 

fair-minded  to  blame  him  altogether.  While  she  hated 
him  for  taking  advantage  of  his  opportunity,  she  would 
have  hated  him  a  hundred  times  more  had  he  neglected 
to  do  so — had  he  allowed  her  to  show  her  love  without 
responding  to  it. 

"How  can  I  go  with  you  after  this?"  she  asked  pite- 
ously. 

"You  have  promised,"  he  answered  firmly. 

"Will  you  keep  out  of  my  way  as  much  as  possible?" 
she  asked.    "For  decency's  sake,  while  Sylvia  is  ill?" 

"For  decency's  sake,"  he  assented  gravely. 

His  face  was  calm  and  reasonable.  She  had  never 
before  seen  the  look  of  tenderness  with  which  he  re- 
garded her  now. 

"What  a  sweet,  pure  little  woman  you  are!"  he  said 
slowly. 

"I'm  not,"  she  said  sorrowfully,  shaking  her  head. 

He  smiled,  and  shaking  a  finger  warningly  at  her,  he 
said: 

"When  Sylvia  is  well — then  beware,  beware!" 

She  was  unnerved,  fatigued,  filled  with  lassitude,  yet 
she  found  voice  to  mock  him : 

"When  Sylvia  is  well,  I  shall  have  as  little  to  fear  as 
before  she  fell  ill.  I  shall  not  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you." 

He  pondered  that.  Evidently  she  was  piqued  at  some- 
thing. He  was  by  no  means  obtuse,  and  after  the  scene 
he  had  just  been  through  with  her,  it  was  not  hard  to 
guess  that  there  was  still  unquenched  a  spark  of  jealousy, 
the  existence  of  which  he  had  not  suspected.  He  spoke 
gravely,  with  admirable  self-poise,  and  with  a  delicacy 
which  in  the  case  of  ninety-nine  women  out  of  a  hundred 
he  would  not  have  employed. 

"I  thank  Sylvia's  illness  for  bringing  me  to  your  door- 


128  THE    GREATER    JOY 

step  so  quickly,"  he  said.  "I  would  not  have  dared  make 
overtures,  or  asked  to  see  you  so  quickly  but  for  this.  I 
would  have  had  to  wait  at  least  a  month.  I  would  have 
lacked  the  courage  to  approach  you  before." 

"Then  you  must  care  more  for  Sylvia  than  for  me,"  she 
chided  him  gently.  "You  dared  do  for  her  what  you 
would  not  have  dared  do  for  me." 

He  assumed  an  excessively  virtuous  air. 

"I  dared  appeal  to  the  spiritual  side  of  your  charac- 
ter," he  said.  "I  dared  ask  your  assistance  where  I 
would  not  so  soon  have  dared  appeal  to  the  emotional 
side  of  yourself." 

She  sat  still,  by  no  means  convinced,  still  feeling  a  lit- 
tle pang  of  jealousy,  not  believing  him  absolutely,  not 
mistrusting  him  wholly;  yet  admiring  him  whole  heart- 
edly. 

Rising  to  go,  he  took  a  preliminary  constitutional 
across  the  room. 

"Tell  me,  Alice,"  he  said.  "Has  it  occurred  to  you 
that  after  all  I  may  be  faking — Sylvia's  illness  I  mean — ■ 
to  get  you  into  my  power?"  There  was  in  his  voice 
neither  passion  nor  desire,  merely  a  craving  to  under- 
stand her  woman's  mind.  She  answered  as  directly, 
feeling  as  if  she  were  committing  herself  more  than 
she  had  yet  done,  more  even  than  when  she  had  sub- 
mitted to  his  violent  caresses  a  moment  before. 

"You  would  not  resort  to  such  means.  They  are 
beneath  you.  You  shall  win  me,  any  woman,  on  your 
own  merit,  or  not  at  all.  You  are  very  sure  of  yourself. 
Perhaps,  also,  you  do  not  care  sufficiently  for  any  par- 
ticular woman — one  woman  being  quite  as  good  as  an- 
other," she  added  with  bitter  playfulness. 

He  laughed  delightedly  to  think  she  had  remembered 
the  poisoned  shaft  he  had  once  directed  to  her  heart. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  129 

He  came  back  to  her,  and  half  kneeling  beside  her  on 
the  couch  in  which  she  was  sitting,  with  the  manner 
bred  of  intimacy,  said: 

"This  one  particular  woman  is  worth  every  effort. 
You  must  have  known  right  along,  Alice,  that  I  merely 
sought  to  torment  you  that  last  day.  And  I  am  not  at 
all  sure  that  if  I  were  to  fail  at  winning  you  on  my  own 
merits,  I  would  not  resort  to  foul  means."  He  added 
gravely,  "I  have  considered  kidnapping." 

"Kidnapping?"  she  started.  She  flushed  crimson. 
Had  he  read  her  thoughts? 

"Kidnapping,"  he  said.  "Would  you  hate  me  very 
much  if  I  did?  Of  course  you  will  say  'yes/  that  you 
would  hate  me" — he  paused  tantalizingly. 

Her  blood  sang  in  her  veins.  She  remembered  a  wild 
dream  she  had  had  several  nights  before,  remembered 
how,  in  that  malignant  dream,  she  had  completely  yielded 
herself  to  him.  Her  color  deepened.  He  had  never 
seen  her  blush  so  deeply  before,  and  the  deep  rose-red 
of  her  cheeks  gave  her  a  strange,  hectic,  unnatural  ap- 
pearance, as  if  she  had  painted  herself,  or  had  inadvert- 
ently brushed  her  face  against  some  adhesive  coloring 
matter. 

He  saw  her  agitation  and  misunderstood  it.  He  be- 
lieved that  he  had  blundered.  "I  must  be  more  careful 
in  the  future,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  He  was  con- 
vinced he  had  outraged  her  sense  of  propriety  or  over- 
taxed her  craving  for  the  romantic.  "I  must  respect  her 
innocence,"  he  said  to  himself,  "her  youth,  her  inno- 
cence and  her  nationality.  Americans  are  likely  to  be 
strait-laced,  unromantic."  She  had  run  away  from  him 
once  because  of  his  brutal,  European  manner  of  press- 
ing his  suit.  He  would  take  good  care  not  to  send  her 
scurrying  away  from  him  again. 


130  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"I  shall  wait  until  the  nine  o'clock  train  and  go  down 
with  you,"  he  said,  "that  is,  unless  you  insist  on  my  go- 
ing ahead,  so  that  the  courier  may  order  the  royal  bath." 

She  smiled  at  this  repetition  of  his  sarcasm. 

"Why  this  change  of  plan?"  she  demanded. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"What  a  child!"  he  laughed.  "Before,  at  a  distance, 
unkissed,  unapproachable,  in  bad  odor,  could  I  have  sat 
opposite  to  you  for  three  miserable  hours  and  talked 
platitudes  and  appeared  at  ease?  Now,  forgiven,  it  is 
very  different.  You  have  been  in  my  arms,  and  shall 
be  in  my  arms  again."  A  danger  signal  in  her  face 
caused  him  to  add  hastily,  "after  Sylvia  is  better." 

"I  would  not  be  too  sure,"  she  said. 

"I  am  quite  sure,"  he  said,  "that  you  will  ultimately 
consent  to  be  my  wife." 

She  noted  with  pleasure  the  change  of  mental  attitude 
that  made  him  now  present  her  future  wifehood  as  a 
positive,  not  an  optional,  contingency. 

In  the  train  she  begged  him  to  acquaint  her  minutely 
with  Sylvia's  illness.  Sylvia  was  down  with  typhoid, 
and  Ulrich  told  her  all  she  wanted  to  know.  He  was 
again  amazed  at  the  thoroughness  of  her  medical  knowl- 
edge as  evinced  by  the  questions  she  put  to  him. 

When,  after  they  had  reached  the  house  on  Riverside 
Drive,  she  left  him  to  go  to  her  room,  which  was  di- 
rectly above  his,  he  sat  down  to  think  matters  over.  De- 
cidedly, he  mused,  she  had  as  many  facets  as  a  finely-cut 
diamond.  It  was  unthinkable  that  he  could  not  ulti- 
mately win  her.  He  would  make  every  sacrifice.  What 
did  he  care  for  the  succession  after  all?  What  was 
the  remote  possibility  of  some  day  occupying  the  throne 
compared  to  obtaining  such  a  jewel,  such  a  peerless,  flaw- 
less jewel  as  this  girl  ?    He  would  be  able  to  devote  him- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  131 

self  wholly  to  medicine.  His  mind  wandered  on;  his 
vision  projected  the  future.  She  would  be  an  ideal  wife 
for  him.  He  remembered  Bacon's  pithy  remarks  of  what 
a  wife  should  be — mistress  in  a  man's  youth,  companion 
in  middle  life,  nurse  in  old  age.  This  pale,  sweet  girl 
would  be  all  that,  and  much  more! 

"How  I  love  her,  how  I  love  her!"  He  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands. 

Alice,  in  the  room  above  his,  was  moving  about.  He 
heard  her  shoes  fall  upon  the  floor — heard  her  move  the 
chair,  shift  the  bed — heard  the  bed  creak. 

His  ecstatic  mood  vanished,  swept  away  as  by  a  hur- 
ricane. His  blood  became  turbulent.  It  was  impossible 
for  him  to  remain  in  his  room,  so  near  her,  with  only 
the  ceiling  between  them,  to  hear  her  move  about,  in  the 
stillness  of  the  night,  to  know  that  her  pure,  sweet,  white 
body  was  stretched  at  full  length  upon  the  bed. 

Springing  from  his  chair,  he  hurried  from  the  room. 
Two  steps  at  a  time,  as  if  pursued  by  the  Furies,  he  ran 
down  to  the  lower  floor,  and  into  his  library.  He  took 
down  a  volume  on  medicines,  and  sought  to  give  his 
undivided  attention  to  the  book.  But  his  hand  trem- 
bled so  that  he  could  not  hold  the  volume  steadily.  He 
read  words,  read  them  out  loud,  making  a  terrible  effort 
to  understand  them,  but  his  vision  was  blurred,  his  brain 
seemed  a  furnace,  his  body  was  enveloped  in  flames ;  the 
air  in  the  room  seemed  to  beat  upon  him  as  a  hammer. 

The  thought  came  to  him  to  leave  the  house,  to  call  for 
a  cab,  to  seek  out  elsewhere  what  was  denied  him  here. 
But  a  revulsion  of  feeling  followed.  He  wondered  at 
himself.  He  was  amazed  at  the  change  that  had  been 
wrought  in  him  by  this  white-faced,  pale-haired  girl.  A 
month  ago  he  would  have  thought  nothing  of  such  an 
exploit.    Now  it  occurred  to  him  that  contact  with  any 


132  THE    GREATER   JOY 

other  woman  would  be  indescribably  revolting,  disgust- 
ing, a  loathsome  thing.  He  had  never  been  faithful  to 
any  woman ;  the  thought  had  never  as  much  as  occurred 
to  him.  If  anyone  had  suggested  it  he  would  have 
laughed  it  to  scorn  as  quixotic,  absurd,  impossible.  Now 
it  seemed  to  him  that  to  enter  upon  a  liaison — even  a 
temporary  one — with  any  other  woman  would  be  to  rub 
the  bloom  off  his  attachment  for  Alice ;  that  he  would  be 
debasing  her  by  accepting  a  substitute  in  any  one  of  the 
many  relations  in  which  she  would  stand  to  him — that 
he  would  be  robbing  her  in  some  occult  way,  if  he  were 
to  take  into  his  arms  some  other  woman. 

There  was  only  one  thing  to  do — to  suffer.  A  certain 
exultation  descended  upon  him.  Bitter  and  cruel  as  was 
this  suffering,  it  was  an  unbelievably  sweet  thing  that 
was  happening  to  him — to  him,  the  seasoned,  cynical, 
callous  man  of  the  world. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  regretted  his  past  life. 
It  had  always  been  his  contention  that  a  man  must  live 
a  man's  life  before  marrying — should  know  all  there  is  to 
be  known — the  depths  and  the  heights.  But  now,  as  he 
kept  his  lonely,  painful  vigil  through  the  small  hours  of 
the  morning,  he  realized  poignantly  that  heretofore  he 
had  known  the  depths  only — never  the  heights — that  the 
intoxication  this  or  that  woman  had  afforded  him  in  the 
past  had  been  ephemeral  merely,  satisfying  the  senses, 
but  never  warming  the  heart  or  inspiring  the  spirit  to 
unwonted  flights. 

He  wished  that  he  might  have  been  able  to  offer  Alice 
a  body  as  undefiled  as  her  own.  He  almost  desired  that 
he  might  have  an  unsophisticated  mind  to  offer  her  as 
well,  ignorant  of  all  the  horrible  wisdom  such  as  the 
Tree  of  Knowledge  imparts. 

He  rejoiced  to  think  that  in  Alice  he  would  win  a 


THE    GREATER    JOY  133 

woman  who  would  restrain  the  brutality  of  his  own  lower 
nature.  He  desired  to  restrain  his  sensuality,  to  win 
her  only  gradually  as  she  gave  herself.  He  rejoiced  that 
she  had  the  power  to  spiritualize  his  passion.  So  keen 
was  his  exaltation,  that  for  the  hour  he  forgot  his  favor- 
ite axiom,  "When  in  man  a  desire  for  moral  reform  sets 
in,  mental  disintegration  begins." 

Dawn  crept  slowly  out  of  the  ebon  embrace  of  night, 
suffusing  the  sky  with  rosy  pink.  Ulrich  gazed  out  over 
the  river  through  the  open  window.  An  enormous  peace 
descended  upon  him.  He  felt  his  passion  subsiding.  As 
if  in  prayer,  he  folded  his  hands,  resting  his  chin  on  his 
fingers. 

How  he  loved  her !    How  he  loved  her ! 

Without  he  heard  her  footsteps.  They  were  muffled, 
hushed,  distant ;  now  they  pattered  on  the  marble  of  the 
tiled  hall,  now  they  were  extinguished  by  the  heavy  Ax- 
minster  rugs  which  lay  upon  the  hall-floor.  Gradually 
she  came  nearer.  He  went  to  the  door  and  bade  her 
good-morning. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

There  was  attached  to  the  von  Dette  household  a  stout, 
middle-aged,  supercilious  and  very  important  woman 
by  the  name  of  von  Schwellenberg.  Miss  Smith,  the 
trained  nurse,  who  had  attended  Sylvia  alone  before 
Alice  came,  declared  that  Frau  von  Schwellenberg  was 
the  bane  of  her  life.  It  appeared  she  had  ordered  Miss 
Smith  about  as  if  she  were  a  servant.  Miss  Smith  cer- 
tainly was  not  a  servant.  No  trained  nurse  would  sub- 
mit to  be  treated  as  if  she  were  a  servant.  This  and 
more  Miss  Smith  confided  to  Alice  in  the  first  half  hour 
of  their  acquaintance,  and  indeed,  the  young  girl  had 
only  to  see  the  two  together  to  perceive  that  Miss  Smith's 
charge  was  well-founded.  She  anticipated  similar  treat- 
ment at  Frau  von  Schwellenberg' s  hands,  and  wondered 
just  what  she  would  do  or  say  if  the  German  "meal-bag," 
Miss  Smith's  irreverent  designation  for  the  fat  little 
lady,  ordered  her  to  carry  in  the  warm  water  for  Sylvia's 
sponge  bath,  instead  of  allowing  the  maid  to  take  it  in, 
which,  it  appeared,  was  the  outrage  committed  by  Miss 
Smith. 

On  the  morning  of  Alice's  advent  the  housemaid  came 
to  the  door  of  Sylvia's  apartment  with  the  hot  water. 
She  was  an  Irish  girl,  and  in  a  very  strong  brogue  re- 
quested Alice  to  come  to  the  door  for  the  pitcher,  as 
the  "fat  old  woman"  did  not  permit  her  to  enter.  Alice 
turned  to  Frau  von  Schwellenberg  with  a  question  in  her 
eyes. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  said  the  meal-bag,  "just  look 

134 


THE    GREATER    JOY  135 

at  that  girl.  The  etiquette  of  a  self-respecting  Court 
would  not  permit  such  a  servant  to  enter  the  room  of  the 
Princess." 

"I  see,"  said  Alice,  contriving  to  get  her  hands  smeared 
with  some  ointment. 

"You  must  take  it  from  her,"  continued  Frau  von 
Schwellenberg  pleasantly. 

"Then  I  do  not  contaminate?" 

"Du  lieber  Gott  in  Himmel,  no." 

The  von  Schwellenberg  was  all  honey  and  cloves. 

"Then,"  said  Alice  calmly,  "I  suppose  you  don't  either. 
Will  you  take  it  from  her?  My  hands  are  very  dirty 
just  now,  as  you  can  see." 

Von  Schwellenberg  glared.  She  was  frightful  to  look 
upon  when  she  glared.  She  bade  the  housemaid  put 
down  the  pitcher  and  go.  Alice,  fussing  about  to  kill 
time,  watched  out  of  a  corner  of  her  eye.  She  saw  the 
fat  old  lady  wobble  to  a  wash-basin,  take  a  piece  of  soap, 
work  it  to  a  lather  on  an  old  wash-rag,  and  with  this 
lather  scrub  the  handle  of  the  pitcher,  where  the  house- 
maid had  touched  it.  Then  she  rinsed  the  handle.  Dry- 
ing it  carefully,  and  puffing  and  panting  from  the  un- 
wonted exertion  of  bending  for  so  long  a  time,  for  the 
pitcher  had  remained  on  the  floor,  she  carried  it  into  the 
room. 

When  Alice  uncovered  Sylvia  to  give  her  her  sponge- 
bath,  the  von  Schwellenberg  again  interrupted. 

"Pardon  me,"  she  said,  "etiquette  prescribes  that  be- 
fore any  liberty  is  taken  with  the  person  of  a  Royal 
Highness,  these  words  must  be  spoken,  "If  your  High- 
ness permits." 

"But  she  is  unconscious,"  the  nurse  remonstrated. 

"  'She  V  My  dear  young  lady,  you  mean  to  say  'Her 
Highness'  is  unconscious." 


136  THE    GREATER    JOY 

The  fat  old  woman  looked  very  much  like  a  strutting 
hen  as  she  uttered  the  last  words. 

Alice  laughed.  She  felt  an  ungodly  desire  to  shock 
this  clumsy,  tradition-ridden  old  creature. 

"Life  is  too  short,"  she  said  flippantly,  as  she  began 
preparations  upon  Sylvia's  prostrate  and  unconscious 
body.  "But  I  haven't  the  least  objection  if  you  will  stay 
near  me  and  pronounce  the  phrases  prescribed  by  the 
etiquette  of  your  Court.  I  suppose  it  doesn't  really  mat- 
ter who  says  them,"  she  concluded  innocently,  "so  long 
as  they're  spoken  at  the  right  time,  like  the  answers  of 
the  congregation  to  the  minister  in  the  Episcopal  serv- 
ice." 

The  von  Schwellenberg  glared  again.  Also  she  bris- 
tled, bristled  so  perceptibly  that  her  very  clothes  seemed 
to  grow  stiff  and  hard. 

"I  shall  have  to  submit  this  to  Prince  Ulrich,"  she  said. 
Then,  a  little  vindictively,  "I  do  not  mind  telling  you 
that  His  Highness  has  instructed  me  to  show  you  the 
greatest  consideration,  the  greatest  respect — yes,  respect 
— but  that  does  not  imply,  I  suppose,  that  I  am  to  tol- 
erate your  refusing  the  respect  you  owe  the  Princess." 

"By  all  means,"  said  Alice  "confer  with  His  Highness." 

His  Highness  apparently  had  nothing  particular  to  say 
in  the  matter,  for  the  von  Schwellenberg  never  referred 
to  court  etiquette  again.  But  one  day,  in  her  usual  sac- 
charine way,  she  said,  apropos  of  nothing  in  particular, 
"His  Highness  seems  very  partial  to  you." 

Henceforward  she  treated  the  new  nurse  with  every 
consideration.  Ignorant  as  Alice  was  of  foreign  ways, 
she  could  not  but  notice  the  deference  paid  to  her  by 
all  the  European  servants,  and  Ulrich  and  Sylvia  had 
brought  quite  a  retinue  with  them.  The  von  Schwellen- 
berg also  deigned  to  chat  familiarly  with  Alice  when- 


THE    GREATER    JOT  137 

ever  there  was  time,  and  one  day,  when  the  young  girl 
picked  up  the  photograph  of  a  young  man  in  the  uni- 
form of  a  Black  Hussar,  who  resembled  Ulrich  amaz- 
ingly, the  "meal-bag"  volunteered  the  information,  "That 
is  Prince  Gunther." 

"Prince  Gunther?"  echoed  Alice.  Sylvia  when  deliri- 
ous had  frequently  called  upon  Gunther. 

Old  Schwellenberg  looked  wise. 

"He  and  the  Princess  are  in  love." 

"Is  he  also  a  von  Dette?" 

"Yes,  he  is  another  cousin,  a  grandson  of  the  old 
King's  brother." 

Alice  put  down  the  photograph. 

"But  she  will  not  marry  him,"  the  von  Schwellenberg 
continued,  "Princess  Sylvia  has  one  fault — she  is  inordi- 
nately ambitious.  She  hopes  Prince  Eitel  Egon,  the  Erb- 
prins,  will  die — yes,  yes,  she  does  wish  it — do  not  look  so 
startled — and  then  she  wants  Prince  Ulrich,  who  is  next 
in  succession,  to  marry  her.    Everybody  knows  it." 

Alice  feigned  indifference,  but  she  had  the  strange  sen- 
sation of  having  been  told  all  this  for  a  purpose.  What 
ulterior  object  could  the  old  lady-in-waiting  have  had  in 
repeating  this  gossip?  Her  face  turned  crimson.  She 
wanted  to  ask  what  view  Prince  Ulrich  took  of  the 
matter,  but  she  felt  it  was  impossible  to  discuss  him  with 
a  third  person.  Besides,  had  he  not  told  her  that  a 
marriage  between  himself  and  Sylvia  was  not  to  be 
thought  of  ? 

One  morning,  at  about  four  o'clock,  Alice  was  awak- 
ened by  a  noise  which  she  could  not  understand.  Hur- 
riedly slipping  on  a  wrapper,  she  ran  down  to  Sylvia's 
room  to  see  if  anything  was  amiss.  She  found  Miss 
Smith,  who  had  the  night-watch,  dozing  lightly  in  a  chair 
near  Sylvia's  bed.     She  was  wide  awake  in  a  moment. 


138  THE    GREATER    JOY 

—— — ^— ^— ■^— ■  — ^— — ■ ^^^^^»»— 

No,  she  had  heard  nothing.  The  Princess  had  slept 
quietly  all  night.  Alice  waited  a  moment  to  hear 
whether  there  would  be  a  repetition  of  the  sound,  but 
the  house  was  still  as  a  tomb,  and  after  five  minutes, 
Alice  crept  upstairs  silently  to  her  own  room. 

On  entering  it  she  immediately  became  aware  of  an- 
other presence,  and  she  was  aware  that  a  candle  had 
been  snuffed  at  that  very  moment.  For  one  instant  her 
heart  stood  still  with  fear.  Who  was  in  the  room  ?  Her 
first  impulse  was  to  cry  out,  but  thought  of  the  patient 
was  second  nature  to  the  trained  nurse,  and  she  checked 
the  cry  that  had  half  risen  to  her  lips.  Was  it  a  burg- 
lar ?  Some  occult  sense  told  her  it  was  not  a  thief,  and 
her  heart  began  palpitating  wildly  as  the  thought  flashed 
upon  her  that  it  might  be  Ulrich.  Would  he  so  far  for- 
get all  the  instincts  of  the  gentleman  ?  She  did  not  know. 
His  eyes  had  flashed  fire  the  previous  day  on  encounter- 
ing her  unexpectedly.  Had  he  entered  her  room  hoping 
to  surprise  and  frighten  her  into  acquiescence?  She 
could  not  believe  it. 

"Who  is  it?"  she  demanded  faintly.  There  was  no 
reply,  and  she  repeated  the  question  more  vigorously. 
Again  she  received  no  answer.  Her  pulse  began  to 
throb  tumultously.  She  was  terrified.  She  could  not  be- 
lieve Ulrich  would  dare  to  do  this,  and  yet  she  was  al- 
most certain  it  was  he.  For  one  moment  the  power  of 
speech  seemed  to  leave  her.  Then  weakly,  not  realizing 
at  all  what  a  very  unwise  thing  she  was  saying,  she  called 
out: 

"Ulrich,  is  it  you?" 

The  answer  came :  "It  is  I,  Freiherrin  von  Schwellen- 
berg." 

The  blood  rushed  back  to  Alice's  face.  In  a  flash  she 
realized  into  what  a  horribly  compromising  position  her 


THE    GREATER    JOY  139 

mention  of  Ulrich's  name  had  placed  her.  What  a  fool 
she  was  in  thus  allowing  herself  to  be  trapped.  For  trap 
she  was  sure  it  was. 

The  "meal-bag,"  who  in  deshabille  doubly  and  trebly 
deserved  the  name,  struck  a  match  and  lit  the  candle 
which  she  herself  had  brought  into  the  room. 

"May  I  inquire  how  you  came  into  my  room  at  this 
hour?"  demanded  Alice,  trembling  with  anger. 

"I  heard  a  sound.  Du  lieber  Gott  in  Himmel,  how 
pale  you  are!     Come,  sit  down." 

She  drew  forward  a  chair,  but  Alice  refused  it  with  an 
imperious  gesture  of  the  hand. 

"Close  the  door,"  she  said  briefly.  "The  entire  house 
need  not  be  awakened  by  your  explanation." 

The  von  Schwellenberg  gave  the  girl  a  quick,  search- 
ing look  and  closed  the  door. 

"I  heard  a  sound,"  she  began  again.  "I  went  into  the 
hall  and  listened.  As  you  know,  my  room  is  opposite  to 
yours.  I  heard  some  one  going  downstairs.  I  did  not 
dare  strike  a  match,  thinking  it  a  burglar,  but  when  you 
got  to  the  landing  I  recognized  you." 

She  stopped. 

"Continue,  if  you  please,"  said  Alice  coldly. 

"I  went  back  to  my  room.  I  listened  for  you  to  re- 
turn. I  feared  you  might  be  ill.  I  thought  I  heard  you 
come  upstairs.  I  called  into  your  room  in  a  whisper  to 
ask  if  I  could  be  of  service  and  received  no  reply.  So 
I  walked  in." 

She  smiled  bovinely.as  she  uttered  the  last  words. 

Alice  realized  that  this  was  no  moment  for  cowardly 
prudence,  and  that,  to  save  herself  as  far  as  she  could  in 
this  woman's  eyes,  she  must  take  the  bull  by  the  horns. 

"You  are  quite  sure,"  she  said  icily,  "that  you  did  not 
think  I  had  gone  downstairs  on  a  very  different  mission 


140  THE    GREATER    JOY 

i — that  I  had  gone  downstairs  to  spend  the  remainder  of 
the  night  in  the  room  directly  under  mine.,, 

"Du  lieber  Gott  in  Himmell" 

The  fat  old  lady  ripped  out  her  favorite  expletive. 
Comic  dismay  was  painted  on  her  fat  countenance,  and 
rouge  being  absent,  she  presented  a  ludicrously  torpid  ap- 
pearance. She  was  an  enormous  woman..  She  was 
dressed  in  a  thin  muslin  night-gown  that  reached  only 
to  her  knees.  Her  feet  were  thrust  into  bathing  slip- 
pers, and  her  fat,  veined  legs  were  bare.  She  had  wound 
a  thin  India  silk  shawl  about  her  hips — one  could  not 
guess  whether  for  warmth  or  vanity.  Altogether  she 
was  as  ludicrous  a  spectacle  as  anyone  would  want  to 
see. 

"Will  you  not  at  least  permit  me  to  sit  down?"  she 
asked,  throwing  back  her  head  with  a  gesture  she  used 
when  using  her  lorgnette. 

She  was  the  grande  dame  very  suddenly,  in  spite  of 
her  ridiculous  attire. 

"I  am  an  old  woman,"  she  went  on  with  something 
like  pride,  "and  it  is  difficult  for  me  to  stand  when  not 
laced  up." 

Alice  pushed  a  chair  over  to  her. 

"You  have  never  before  asked  my  permission  to  sit," 
remarked  the  young  girl  with  a  serenity  which  equalled 
the  placid  temper  of  her  visitor.  "I  cannot  guess  why 
you  do  it  now." 

By  this  time  she  was  sufficiently  familiar  with  that 
bugbear,  court  etiquette,  to  realize  that  the  sudden  as- 
sumption of  humility  by  this  woman,  whose  rank  was 
high,   boded   something  portentous. 

The  von  Schwellenberg  did  not  reply.  Alice,  clad  in 
a  pink  silk  kimono,  which,  being  too  short,  revealed  her 
bare  limbs  as  shamelessly  as  her  visitor's,  was  seated  on 


THE    GREATER    JOY  141 

the  bed.  From  this  point  of  vantage,  bowing  as  cere- 
moniously as  if  she  had  been  in  full  ball  regalia,  she 
said  politely: 

"You  have  not  yet  informed  me  of  the  reason  of  your 
change  of  front." 

The  old  lady  became  excited  at  last. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  she  cried,  "what  are  you  quarrelling 
about,  meine  Gnaedigste?  Naturally  I  will  not  sit  down 
without  permission  in  the  presence  of  a  young  lady  who 
enjoys  the  distinction  of  calling  His  Royal  Highness  by 
his  first  name." 

There  was  no  malice  in  old  Schwellenberg's  voice  as 
she  made  this  statement,  only  a  look  of  singular  defer- 
ence, almost  of  homage.  Alice  felt  a  strong  inclination 
to  laugh.  To  be  respected  by  this  fat,  etiquette-crazy  old 
woman  because  she  suspected  that  Ulrich  was  her 
lover ! 

Again  in  thought  she  had  used  his  first  name,  and  in- 
stantly aware  of  it,  she  became  intolerably  nervous.  At 
all  hazards  she  must  clear  her  reputation.  So  far  she 
was  innocent,  and  she  would  remain  so. 

Quietly  she  said: 

"You  will  have  to  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  I  have 
no  right  to  call  His  Highness  by  his  first  name." 

"But  you  will  have  soon,"  said  von  Schwellenberg 
consolingly.  Nodding  her  head  vigorously,  she  went  on, 
"I  am  quite  certain  of  that.  He  is  much  in  love  with 
you.  Sehr  verliebt.  Ach  was!  I  knew  it  the  first  time 
I  saw  him  in  the  same  room  with  you.  A  blind  man 
could  have  seen  it,  and  I  am  a  woman  with  very  good 
eyesight.  He  is  crazy  about  you.  If  you  have  not  yet 
won  him,  you  must  not  despair." 

Alice  smiled  in  spite  of  herself.  The  viewpoint  was 
so  absurdly  preposterous. 


142  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"I  assure  you,  Frau  von  Schwellenberg,  I  have  no  de- 
sire to  win  the  Prince  or  any  other  man." 

"That  I  believe ;  you  are  a  good  woman,  but  he  has  a 
desire  to  make  you  love  him.  He  will  succeed.  Ulrich 
von  Dette  is  not  a  man  to  sigh  in  vain." 

She  herself  sighed  most  tragically. 

Alice's  conscience  pricked  her.  It  was  horrible  to 
think  that  she  actually  had  an  inclination  to  do  the  very 
thing  with  which  von  Schwellenberg  charged  her.  She 
replied  determinedly: 

"He  will  not  succeed." 

She  was  very  nervous,  because  she  was  uncertain  of 
the  truth  of  her  words.  The  night  air  was  chill.  She 
shivered. 

"What  then  will  you  do?"  The  old  woman's  voice 
was  rasping,  exacting.  "You  are  very  beautiful;  your 
mirror  tells  you  that.  Rather  than  have  a  royal  lover, 
will  you  marry  some  odious  business  man  whom  you 
happen  to  nurse  through  some  sickness?  Ach  was!  You 
do  not  know  what  it  means  to  be  a  royal  favorite !  You 
will  be  envied  by  everyone.  Everyone  will  bow  to  you, 
men  and  women  of  rank,  ministers  of  state,  princes  of  the 
blood  even.  You  will  be  created  a  Baroness  or  a  Frei- 
frau  or  something  to  enable  you  to  appear  at  Court  and 
to  take  precedence  of  other  women  of  the  old  nobility  but 
of  lower  rank.  Ach,  mein  Gott!  what  can  I  say  to  con- 
vince you  not  to  throw  away  the  good  fortune  which  is 
offered  you?" 

Alice  was  turning  hot  and  cold  by  turns.  She  sought 
refuge  in  sarcasm. 

"If  all  the  favorites  of  royalty  are  still  given  titles," 
she  said,  "I  wonder  that  the  Almanach  de  Gotha  is  not 
twice  as  long  as  it  is." 

"You  are  witty,"  said  von  Schwellenberg.    "I  did  not 


THE    GREATER    JOY  143 

speak  of  the  vermin,  the  Gesindel,  women  whose  trade  is 
that  of  the  courtesan.  I  speak  of  women  like  you, 
women  of  beauty,  of  intellect,  of  presence,  of  personal- 
ity— mein  Gott!  what  a  personality  you  have — you  who 
made  old  Freifrau  von  Schwellenberg  perform  a 
menial's  work!  Never  shall  I  forget  that  I  carried  the 
hot  water  for  you!" 

Alice  laughed.  The  von  Schwellenberg  looked  so 
preposterous  in  her  short  muslin  night-dress,  and  bare, 
blue-veined  legs;  the  entire  scene  was  so  bizarre  that 
she  could  not  suppress  her  sense  of  humor. 

"Think  it  over  carefully,"  continued  the  old  lady-in- 
waiting.  "Do  not  say  'no'  too  quickly.  Even  if  you 
do  not  care  for  him  very  much." 

"But  I  do." 

The  words  seemed  to  leap  out  of  the  young  girl's 
mouth.  She  was  half  frantic  with  the  torture  the  con- 
versation was  inflicting. 

"You  care  for  him?"  stammered  Frau  von  Schwel- 
lenberg. 

The  girl  became  reckless. 

"I  am  mad  for  him,"  she  cried. 

The  panther,  or  the  tiger,  or  whatever  other  name  one 
chose  to  give  the  animal  that  had  lain  dormant  in  her 
so  long,  struggled  rampantly  into  life.  She  thought  that 
those  who  see  madness  approaching,  see  it  and  cannot 
escape,  must  feel  as  she  was  feeling. 

"You  are  mad  for  him?"  old  von  Schwellenberg  re- 
peated. "And  you  think  of  refusing  him?  You  are 
joking.     Surely,  you  do  not  expect  him  to  marry  you?" 

And  before  Alice  could  disavow  her  intention  of  cap- 
turing Prince  Ulrich  in  marriage,  the  old  woman,  who 
had  become  terribly  agitated,  continued: 

"Marriage  would  be  so  foolish  for  both  of  you.     At 


144  THE    GREATER    JOY 

present  he  is  the  great  man  in  Hohenhoff-Hohe.  The 
old  King  has  been  controlled  by  him  for  years.  He  will 
be  the  Regent  of  the  young  King  when  the  old  King  is 
dead.  If  he  marries  you  regularly,  he  will  not  be  Regent. 
He  will  be  what  we  call  a  zero — eine  Null — nothing.  It 
would  be  too  cruel." 

Quickly  the  girl  said: 

"I  love  him  too  dearly  to  want  him  to  marry  me.  I 
am  not  thinking  of  myself.    I  am  thinking  of  him." 

"Ach  Gott!"  cried  the  von  Schwellenberg,  "wie  ro- 
mantisch!"  She  sighed.  "You  are  charming,  Miss 
Vaughn!  You  are  wonderful!  Ah,  what  life  you  will 
inject  into  our  selfish,  phlegmatic  little  Court!  An  un- 
selfish favorite!  It  has  never  been.  You  will  achieve 
the  impossible.    You  must  accept !    You  must !" 

Alice  felt  she  must  terminate  the  conversation.  She 
felt  ill  and  nauseated  from  sheer  nervousness. 

"Freiherrin,"  she  said,  "I  beg  of  you  to  discontinue 
this  conversation." 

The  old  woman  arose  and  hobbled  to  the  door.  "I 
am  going,"  she  said.  "Only  one  word  more.  Count  on 
old  von  Schwellenberg  as  your  most  devoted  servant 
and  friend.  Command  me  when  and  how  you  will  and 
rely  on  my  discretion." 

Attempting  a  deferential  bow,  which  Alice,  blinded 
with  tears,  did  not  even  see,  she  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER   IX 

Ulrich  certainly  behaved  admirably  all  through  Syl- 
ria's  illness.     But  such  is  the  inconsistency  of  human 

iture,  that  Alice  was  both  irritated  and  annoyed  be- 
cause he  faithfully  held  to  the  conduct  she  herself  had 
prescribed  for  him.  He  made  no  attempt  to  see  her  pri- 
vately. If  she  entered  a  room  in  which  he  happened  to 
be,  he  attempted  no  conversation,  held  open  the  door  for 
her  so  she  could  majestically  walk  forth,  treated  her  with 
the  most  marked  courtesy. 

His  conduct  caused  her  to  speculate  on  his  motives. 
!At  first  she  was  pleased ;  a  few  days  later  she  was  an- 
noyed ;  still  later,  she  believed  he  meant  to  pique  her  into 
giving  him  some  lead.  Finally  she  concluded  that  see- 
ing her  in  daily  close  proximity  had  disillusioned  him 
and  that  he  did  not  intend  to  renew  his  wooing. 

If  she  had  been  madly  in  love  with  him  before,  now 
her  passion  became  a  tempest,  a  perfect  hurricane  that 
swept  over  her  at  mere  thought  of  him.  She  was  more 
dazzled  than  ever  by  his  perfect  courtesy,  which  he  had 
never  before  displayed  so  conspicuously.  Von  Schwel- 
lenberg's  words  also  had  not  failed  of  their  effect. 

Her  patient  was  already  convalescent  when  one  even- 
ing in  the  dim  twilight  of  the  hall  she  and  Ulrich  col- 
lided. He  caught  her  from  slipping  on  the  marble  floor, 
but  instead  of  releasing  her,  encircled  her  waist  with  his 
arm.  In  the  semi-darkness  his  eyes  appeared  luminous, 
almost  like  the  quick  glints  of  light  that  glimmer  on 
flowing  water  in  the  moonlight. 

145 


140  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Don't,  don't !"  she  murmured  vaguely,  faint  from  the 
sudden  encounter,  the  unexpected  contact  with  his  hands, 
his  breath,  his  skin. 

"Haven't  I  behaved  well?"  he  whispered  ardently. 
"Am  I  not  to  get  my  reward  at  last?  Let  me  kiss  you, 
please." 

"No,  no,"  she  murmured,  feeling  his  kisses  would  be 
intolerable.  She  lowered  her  head,  threw  it  from  one 
side  to  the  other  to  escape  his  mouth,  which  was  greedy, 
voracious,  half  open,  like  the  mouth  of  a  child  eagerly 
expecting  a  visible  yet  delayed  sweetmeat. 

He  laughed  and  spoke  in  a  low,  caressing  voice. 

"I  will  hold  you  until  you  surrender  with  good  grace." 

"No,  no,  Ulrich !     Some  one  will  see  us." 

"Never  mind,  Sweetheart."  His  white  teeth  flashed 
like  the  petal  of  a  magnolia  blossom.  "I  do  not  mind 
your  compromising  me  in  the  least." 

Alice  laughed.  He  had  waited  for  this.  He  stooped 
quickly  and  crushed  his  lips  against  hers,  holding  her 
head  with  one  hand  so  she  could  not  escape  him.  Never 
before  had  he  held  her  so  firmly,  never  before  had  she 
experienced  such  rapture  at  being  encircled  by  his  arms. 

He  released  her  at  last,  but  not  before  he  had  whis- 
pered : 

"When,  Alice?    When?" 

"Never,  never!"  she  said  determinedly. 

"You  must  realize  that  you  cannot  give  yourself  one 
moment,  as  you  have  given  yourself  just  now,  and  refuse 
yourself  the  next  moment,"  he  protested. 

"I  did  not  yield  myself.  But  you — oh,  you're  a  cy- 
clone!" 

"Very  well.  Then  you  mean  you  yield  only  to  cyclones 
and  similar  convulsions  of  nature?" 

There  was  a  menace  in  his  tone  that  frightened  her. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  147 

"I  didn't  mean  that,"  she  said  fearfully. 

Bending  over  her,  he  whispered  ardently: 

"You  cannot  escape  me.  If  you  wish  to  prolong  the 
chase  a  little  longer,  very  well.  But  you  will  be  mine 
sooner  or  later."  Then  stepping  aside  and  bowing,  he 
added :  "I  will  not  detain  you  longer." 

The  next  instant  she  was  alone.  After  this  Alice  real- 
ized that  she  must  either  leave  the  von  Dette  household 
without  an  explanation,  or  meet  the  issue  squarely.  Her 
sleep  became  troubled;  she  lost  her  appetite;  a  nervous 
unrest  possessed  her.  And  judging  from  the  deep  hol- 
lows under  his  eyes,  she  knew  it  must  be  the  same  with 
Ulrich. 

Sylvia  was  rapidly  regaining  her  health.  She  had 
taken  a  great  fancy  to  Alice  and  treated  her  more  as 
a  friend  than  as  a  nurse.  She  insisted  in  calling  her  by 
her  first  name,  and  on  Alice's  reciprocating.  One  day 
she  asked  her  whether  she  would  be  willing  to  go  abroad 
with  her. 

"If  you  do  not  care  to  come  as  my  avowed  com- 
panion," she  said,  "I  hope  you  will  at  least  pay  us  a  good 
long  visit  this  winter  at  Hohen.  Hohen  is  our  Resident, 
our  capital,  you  know,  and  I  can  promise  you  our  Court 
is  as  lively  during  the  season  as  any  in  Europe. 

Alice  thanked  her,  but  declined  the  invitation.  Sylvia 
became  pressing,  even  urgent,  and  positively  refused  to 
take  a  final  "no."  When  the  nurse  left  the  room  for  a 
few  moments  to  prepare  a  milk  punch,  old  von  Schvvel- 
lenberg  took  advantage  of  her  absence  to  say : 

"Princess,  surely  it  cannot  be  your  intention  to  get 
Prince  Ulrich  to  marry  this  girl,  charming  though  she 
be !  I  implore  you  to  consider  the  honor  of  your  name, 
of  your  race,  and  not  to  sacrifice  it  to  your  own  am- 
bitions." 


148  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Dear  old  Schwellie,"  replied  the  princess  with  a  sig- 
nificant smile,  "Don't  you  think  I  have  as  much  regard 
for  the  honor  of  our  house  as  you  have  ?" 

Von  Schwellenberg  grumbled. 

"As  for  marriage,"  the  princess  continued  lightly,  "I 
am  afraid  the  redoubtable  Ulrich  will  marry  no  one, 
not  even  me." 

At  that  moment  Alice  reentered,  and  Frau  von  Schwel- 
lenberg, snorting  and  furious  because  of  the  snub  she 
had  received,  left  the  room. 

Still  very  weak,  Sylvia  asked  Alice  to  let  her  rest  her 
head  on  her  shoulder  until  she  fell  asleep. 

Twilight  was  rapidly  falling.  The  room  was  perfectly 
quiet  with  the  heavy  stillness  peculiar  to  large  houses  in 
aristocratic  neighborhoods.  There  was  something  op- 
pressive, even  unhealthy,  in  the  unnatural  peace.  There 
was  not  a  fly,  not  a  mosquito  to  disturb  the  ear,  only  the 
distant  rumbling  of  a  wagon  or  the  rapid  chug-chug  of  a 
far-away  automobile  suggested  the  busy  life  of  the  big 
city.  The  flowers,  which  had  been  fresh  and  sweet  in 
the  morning,  were  already  beginning  to  decay.  A 
strange,  tropical,  morbid  odor  emanated  from  them, 
making  the  air  in  the  room  stifling,  thick,  unclean. 

Sylvia  was  asleep  at  last,  and  Alice,  still  holding  her, 
was  drowsy  from  the  stillness  and  the  heat  of  the  room. 
Suddenly  she  became  wide  and  painfully  awake.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  it  was  not  Sylvia's  head  that  was  rest- 
ing upon  her  shoulder,  upon  her  bosom,  but  Ulrich's. 
They  were  alone;  it  was  night. 

She  slid  Sylvia's  head  upon  the  pillow  and  noiselessly 
crept  from  the  room.  Outside,  panting,  choking,  she 
stood  half  fainting,  muttering  to  herself,  "It  cannot  go 
on  like  this.  I  must  meet  him  squarely.  But  how  will  it 
end?" 


CHAPTER  X 

Again  they  met  in  the  hall — accidentally.  The  door 
to  his  study  was  open.  He  had  just  lit  a  small  red  lamp 
which  he  burned  all  evening,  whether  he  was  in  the  room 
or  not. 

He  looked  at  her  keenly,  and  without  making  an 
effort  to  kiss  her,  as  she  expected,  he  said : 

"I  would  like  to  have  a  talk  with  you.  Will  you  come 
into  the  library?" 

She  made  no  reply,  but  followed  him.  A  certain  sanc- 
tity seemed  to  envelop  him.  Never  before  had  he  ap- 
peared so  reserved,  never  before  had  she  perceived  such 
an  undercurrent  of  tenderness  as  now  appeared  in  his 
attitude.  But  she  did  not  know,  perhaps  he  did  not 
know  himself,  that  his  manner  was  a  superb  piece  of  un- 
conscious acting.  He  had  never  been  less  sincere  or  less 
genuine  with  her.  Everything  he  was  about  to  say  had 
been  carefully  premeditated. 

"You  must  realize,"  he  began  gravely  "that  things 
cannot  go  on  as  at  present.  It  is  not  necessary  to  par- 
ticularize, but  you  must  realize  that  I  have  endured  tor- 
ture during  the  past  few  weeks." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  he  perceived  that  she  was 
trembling  from  head  to  foot,  not  violently,  but  as  if  wave 
upon  wave  of  emotion  were  traversing  her.  She  was 
still    standing,    supporting   herself   against   the   mantel. 

kHe  drew  up  a  chair. 
"You  had  better  sit  down,"  he  said;  "we  have  a  long 
talk  before  us." 


150  THE    GREATER    JOY 

She  obeyed  him  mechanically,  and  he  perceived  that 
she  was  not  thinking  of  him,  but  of  something  else,  pos- 
sibly of  something  he  had  said.  He  would  like  to  have 
known  what  was  agitating  her  so  profoundly.  The  ex- 
alted mood  in  which  he  had  found  himself  on  the  evening 
of  her  arrival  had  completely  passed.  Even  his  desire 
not  to  be  faithless  to  her  had  assumed  the  complexion 
of  mere  hedonism,  seemed  merely  to  proceed  from  a 
wish  not  to  blunt  his  joy  in  her.  His  favorite  axiom, 
"When  a  desire  for  moral  reform  begins,  mental  disin- 
tegration sets  in,"  again  had  his  endorsement.  Lust  of 
conquest  was  uppermost.  He  was  determined  not  to  lose 
her.  If  she  was  to  be  gained  in  no  other  way,  he  had 
ultimately  and  finally  decided  to  marry  her.  But  he  felt 
that  if  he  lacked  the  wit  to  gain  her  without  marriage, 
that  if  his  brain  pitted  against  hers  were  to  prove  the 
less  clever  of  the  two,  he  would  never  be  able  to  take 
full  delight  in  his  possession  of  her,  for  he  was  keen 
enough  to  know  that  it  must  be  a  case  of  brain  con- 
quering brain,  and  not  senses  subjugating  senses,  if  he 
desired  to  hold  her.  And  that  realization  stung  him  into 
putting  forth  every  effort  to  win  her. 

Like  a  lawyer  about  to  argue  his  case  in  court,  he  had 
carefully  prepared  himself.  He  had  rehearsed  the  facts 
and  arguments  to  be  presented  to  her.  Like  all  good  ex- 
tempore speakers,  he  preferred  to  rely  upon  the  inspira- 
tion of  the  moment  for  selecting  the  most  formidable  and 
adequate  raiment  in  which  to  clothe  his  arguments,  for 
to  him  arguments  were  like  human  beings,  the  impres- 
sion they  made  depended  largely  on  their  style. 

"Alice,"  he  said,  "don't  you  realize  that  you  must  be 
fair  with  me,  and  give  me  a  definite  answer?" 

She  looked  at  him  questioningly.      Before  she  spoke, 


THE    GREATER    JOY  151 

he  knew  what  she  was  going  to  say,  and  he  quailed.  He 
had  not  expected  she  would  dare  to  be  so  direct. 

"Before  I  can  answer  you,  Ulrich,  I  must  know  what 
you  are  asking  me.  You  ask  me  to  be  fair  with  you; 
then  be  honest  with  me ;  what  are  you  asking  me  to  be — 
your  wife,  or " 

"I  have  told  you,  Alice,  not  once,  but  a  dozen  of  times, 
that  if  you  have  an  insuperable  aversion  to  living  with 
me  as  my  sweetheart,  I  will  marry  you.  But  marriage 
would  mean  the  giving  up  of  many  advantages  to  which 
my  rank  entitles  me,  and  in  which  you  would  participate. 
I  am  not  thinking  only  of  myself  in  preferring  that  we 
should  be  lovers  instead  of  man  and  wife.  I  have  ex- 
plained to  you  what  a  morganatic  marriage  is.  I  will 
not  marry  you  that  way.  It  must  either  be  a  full  and 
regular  marriage,  which  would  mean  that  I  must  re- 
nounce my  rights  to  the  succession,  or — the  other.  It  is 
for  you  to  say  which." 

Nervously  she  laced  and  interlaced  her  fingers. 
Slowly  she  answered : 

"I  will  not  accept  your  sacrificing  everything  for  me," 
she  said  at  last,  "nor  can  I  consent  to — to — the  other 
way." 

"It  will  have  to  be  one  or  the  other,  I  will  not  give 
you  up.  Make  up  your  mind  to  that.  You  will  not 
leave  this  room  until  I  have  your  answer.  If  you  say 
that  I  must  make  the  sacrifice,  well  and  good,  I  will  make 
it.  I  do  not  deny  it  will  be  hard  on  me,  for  I  love  my 
beautiful  country  very  dearly;  I  am  proud  of  my  rank 
and  all  it  means ;  I  have  been  brought  up  to  believe  that 
high  rank  carries  with  it  high  obligations,  which  in  my 
case,  as  Prince  Regent,  during  my  cousin's  minority,  I 
shall  be  called  upon  to  discharge  in  the  near  future.  I 
am  placed  in  a  very  unfortunate  position;  I  must  either 


152  THE    GREATER    JOY 

be  renegade  in  my  duty  to  my  country,  or  in  my  duty  to 
the  woman  I  love.  But  I  will  not  give  you  up.  If  your 
Puritan  blood  makes  it  impossible  for  you  to  come  to  me 
without  marriage,  then  I  will  have  to  be  a  renegade  to 
my  country.  But  you  I  must  have,  Alice.  Answer  me, 
which  is  it  to  be?" 

"I  cannot  decide,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone.  She  was 
trembling  from  head  to  foot.  "I  cannot  decide,"  she  re- 
peated. "Ulrich,  I  will  leave  the  decision  to  you.  I  trust 
you.    Whatever  you  say  I  will  do." 

"No,  Alice,  I  cannot  do  that.  If  I  were  to  decide 
against  marriage,  and  I  am  frank  in  saying  that  my  in- 
clination lies  that  way,  you  might  later  on  reproach  me, 
or  worse  still,  you  might  feel  a  resentment  against  me 
without  voicing  it,  thinking  that  I  had  taken  advantage 
of  your  innocence.  All  I  can  do  is  this.  I  can  ask  you 
to  make  this  great  sacrifice  for  me.  You  say  you  trust 
me.  You  will  never  regret  doing  that,  Alice.  I  shall 
prove  myself  worthy  of  your  faith.     Well?" 

She  did  not  answer,  but  sat  looking  at  him  with  large, 
frightened  eyes.  He  saw  how  miserably  she  was  suffer- 
ing, and  he  pitied  her.  His  self-possession  almost  melted 
away  under  the  look  of  those  innocent,  trusting  blue  eyes. 

"Well?"  he  asked  again. 

"You  must  think  me  very  weak,  Ulrich.  I  do  not  want 
you  to  shirk  your  duty  on  my  account,  but  I  have  been 
brought  up  to  consider  what  you  are  asking  me  to  con- 
template as  the  cardinal  sin.  I  have  been  brought  up  to 
believe  that  it  is  worse  than  thievery,  more  degrading 
than  murder.  Oh,  Ulrich,  I  cannot  decide.  I  am  so 
very,  very  miserable." 

The  tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

"If  you  cannot  take  a  different  viewpoint  of  it,"  he 
said,  "I  certainly  would  not  consent  to  your  sacrificing 


THE    GREATER    JOY  153 

yourself.  I  certainly  would  not  wish  you  to  feel  that 
you  were  degrading  yourself  on  my  account.  There  is 
much  work  waiting  for  me  in  Hohenhof-Hohe.  But  let 
the  poor  continue  to  go  unfed,  let  the  schools  continue  to 
be  inadequate  and  insufficient — what  does  it  matter  to 
you  and  me?  We  shall  marry,  Alice,  and  be  selfishly 
happy,  and  not  think  of  the  thousands  of  persons  whom 
we  have  sacrificed  so  that  we  may  be  happy." 

"No,  no,  Ulrich,"  she  cried  piteously.  "I  cannot,  I 
will  not  let  you  fail  in  your  duty  to  your  country  like 
that." 

With  sudden  passion,  he  went  on: 

"Don't  you  see,  dear,  that  it  is  the  feeling  that  binds 
heart  to  heart  which  lowers  or  exalts  us,  and  not  the 
miserable  little  fact  whether  the  marriage  ceremony  had 
been  performed  or  not?  I  love  you,  I  adore  you;  no 
marriage  ceremony,  no  civil  or  religious  marriage,  could 
make  you  more  my  own  than  if  you  come  to  me  this  way. 
Before  God,  Alice,  you  would  be  my  wife!" 

"Why  do  you  say  before  God?"  she  interrupted. 
"You  should  at  least  be  sincere  with  me,  and  you  are 
not  sincere  when  you  speak  of  God.  You  do  not  be- 
lieve in  God." 

Too  clever  to  waste  energy  in  futile  denial,  Ulrich  con- 
tinued suavely: 

"When  anyone  who  no  longer  believes  in  the  Deity 
uses  the  word  'God/  it  is  neither  a  mark  of  insincerity 
nor  a  reverting  to  type.  Rather  is  the  word  employed 
as  a  metaphor.  It  is  imagery  of  a  sublime  sort.  The 
word  is  used  to  summarize  all  the  finer,  spiritual  forces 
in  us." 

She  was  struck  by  the  reply  as  he  could  see.  As  he 
had  invented  the  retort  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  he 
felt  all  the  pride  of  the  creative  artist. 


154*  THE    GREATER    JOY 

But  so  far  he  had  not  progressed  a  single  step  nearer 
his  goal.  He  was  wondering  in  what  way  it  would  be 
best  to  proceed,  when  she  burst  out : 

"Oh,  Ulrich,  do  you  not  realize  what  a  coward  I  am? 
Why  don't  you  do  something  desperate,  and  put  an  end 
to  our  misery?" 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  acknowledged  her  own 
condition  of  mind.  Quick  to  see  his  advantage,  he 
said : 

"I  have  done  nothing  desperate  because  I  would  not  as 
much  as  kiss  you,  unless  I  knew  you  were  willing.  I 
love  you,  and  I  desire  your  love  and  esteem,  not  your 
fear  and  contempt.  I  believe  I  love  you  a  great  deal 
more  than  you  love  me." 

Alarmed  by  his  tone  of  certainty,  she  looked  up  at  him 
anxiously.  He  continued  boldly,  knowing  he  was  stak- 
ing all  upon  this  last  card. 

"Yes — I  love  you  more  than  you  love  me.  I  have  re- 
peatedly offered  to  make  the  great  sacrifice  for  you — to 
marry  you.  But  you  are  not  willing  to  make  the  great 
sacrifice  for  me,  of  living  with  me  without  being  my 
wife." 

The  words  stung  every  fibre  of  her  woman's  pride. 

"I  don't  ask  you  to  make  a  sacrifice,"  she  retorted 
quickly.  "I  would  not  accept  your  name,  would  not  be 
willing  to  bear  it,  if  it  is  such  a  sacrifice  to  give  it  to  me." 

He  had  partly  foreseen  her  anger.  It  was  part  of  his 
plan. 

"Alice,"  he  said  in  a  mildly  reproachful  tone,  "you 
are  very  unreasonable.  We  are  extraordinarily  situated, 
you  and  I.  One  of  us  must  make  a  sacrifice,  either  I  of 
my  rank  and  of  its  appanages,  or  you  of  your — how  shall 
I  designate  it? — foolish  notions  concerning  virtue.  You 
are  not  willing  to  make  the  sacrifice,  yet  permit  me  to 


THE    GREATER    JOY  155 

point  out  to  you  that  your  sacrifice  is  an  intangible  one, 
concerning  itself  merely  as  it  does  with  feelings  and  be- 
liefs, while  mine  is  a  renunciation  of  very  palpable  ad- 
vantages. If  you  were  willing  to  make  the  sacrifice  for 
me,  I  would  accept  it,  because  it  is  my  honest  conviction 
that  my  retention  of  the  advantages  which  I  enjoy, 
thanks  to  my  exalted  birth,  will  make  life  more  radiantly 
beautiful  not  only  for  me,  but  for  you  as  well.  And  if 
you  had  given  me  the  chance  to  accept  your  sacrifice,  I 
would  have  thanked  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart 
and  cheerfully  acknowledged  my  indebtedness  to  you, 
for  I  fully  realize  that  although  your  notions  seem  obso- 
lete and  a  trifle  foolish,  yet  to  you  they  appear  to  be  the 
very  cloth  of  gold  and  ermine  in  which  your  soul  is 
robed.  But  it  seems  to  be  decreed  that  I,  and  not  you, 
are  to  make  the  sacrifice,  and  I  will  gladly,  willingly  and 
cheerfully  make  it.  Nor,  since  it  offends  you,  shall  I 
ever  refer  to  it  again.  And  now  that  the  matter  is  set- 
tled, let  us  say  no  more  about  it,  dearest." 

She  had  left  her  chair,  as  he  began  unfolding  his 
diabolical  casuistry,  and  had  seated  herself  in  a  remote 
corner  of  the  room  as  if  to  escape  from  his  immediate 
proximity.  He  could  see,  as  he  watched  her  furtively, 
that  his  words  were  not  merely  sinking  deep  into  her 
soul,  but  were  lacerating  her  very  flesh.  She  not  merely 
heard  him  speak — she  felt  his  words. 

When  he  stopped  speaking,  she  arose  and  walked 
straight  to  him.  By  the  look  in  her  face  he  knew  that 
victory  was  his.  She  was  aglow  and  afire  with  the 
flame  of  her  renunciation. 

"Ulrich,  Ulrich,"  she  said  in  a  low,  passionate  voice, 
putting  both  her  arms  about  his  neck.  It  was  the  first 
time  she  had  ever  offered  him  a  caress,  and  a  tremor  of 
pride,  of  exultation  swept  through  him. 


156  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"I  shall  not  accept  your  sacrifice.  The  sacrifice  shall 
be  mine.  I  have  been  selfish,  heartless,  stupid.  I  did  not 
understand  you,  dear.  I  see  it  all  so  plainly  now.  For- 
give me — and  take  me!" 

He  passed  his  arm  about  her  waist,  and  at  the  same 
tnoment  she  buried  her  face  against  his  shoulder. 

Now,  in  the  moment  of  his  supreme  triumph,  a  feeling 
of  inexpressible  alarm  came  over  him.  As  he  held  her, 
her  one  arm  still  clinging  about  his  neck,  it  seemed  to 
him  that  the  future  was  unrolled  before  him.  He  felt 
a  foreboding  that  he  would  never  be  able  to  disentangle 
himself  from  the  silken  web  he  himself  had  helped  weave. 
He  almost  regretted  his  triumph.  And  yet  he  had  been 
determined  to  marry  her,  failing  to  win  her  otherwise. 
But  marriage,  he  felt  in  some  indeterminate,  unanalyzed 
way,  would  not  have  bound  him  to  her  so  inviolably,  so 
ruthlessly  as  he  was  being  bound  because  she  was  yield- 
ing herself.  She  was  doubtless  waiting  for  him  to  kiss 
her ;  she  had  a  right  to  expect  it.  He  put  his  lips  upon 
the  nape  of  her  neck,  and  at  contact  with  the  soft,  cool 
flesh,  all  his  love  for  her  came  pulsing  back,  sweeping 
before  it  every  other  consideration. 

"Alice,  Alice!" 

She  lifted  her  head  from  his  shoulder,  and  of  one  ac- 
cord they  went  to  the  couch  and  sat  down  upon  it,  to- 
gether, side  by  side. 

"You  will  not  regret  it,  Alice?" 

"No,  Ulrich." 

"You  are  quite  sure  ?" 

"I  am  glad  it  is  settled.  Don't  let  us  discuss  it  any 
more.    I  am  so  weary  of  all  this  talk." 

"Very  well,  dear.  Where  shall  we  spend  our  honey- 
moon?" 

Her  eyes  dropped. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  157 

"Wherever  you  wish,  Ulrich,"  she  said  in  a  soft,  low, 
voice. 

"Mountains  or  seashore?" 

"Is  it  quite  immaterial  to  you?" 

"Quite.     I  wish  you  to  choose." 

"Let  us  go  to  the  mountains.  Don't  you  love  the  lofty 
serenity,  Ulrich,  of  the  mountain  atmosphere?  And 
the  wonderful  sunsets  that  last  for  almost  two  hours  in 
midsummer  ?" 

"Very  well,  dear,  I  know  of  a  beautiful  place.  I  hope 
I  can  get  it.    I  shall  telegraph  to-night. ' 

Her  eyes  met  his  with  an  inquiry. 

He  bent  forward  and  whispered : 

"Sylvia  sails  a  week  from  yesterday,  at  five  in  the 
morning.  I  shall  manage  to  sprain  my  ankle,  so  that  at 
the  last  moment  she  will  have  to  sail  alone.  You  will  see 
her  off  the  night  before.  We  will  start  early  the  next 
morning,  which  will  give  us  ample  time  to  motor  all  the 
way.  The  roads  are  splendid.  We  shall  reach  our  des- 
tination by  five  in  the  afternoon." 

She  smiled,  and  without  speaking,  kissed  him  on  the 
lips.  Then  she  leaned  he**  head  against  his  shoulder. 
Suddenly  she  said: 

"Ulrich,  you  are  not  as  happy  as  I  am.    Why  not  ?" 

"You  are  happier  because  you  are  making  the  sacri- 
fice." 

He  spoke  the  first  words  that  came  into  his  head,  but 
after  he  had  spoken  it  occurred  to  him  that  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  truth,  and  not  only  of  truth  but  of  sin- 
cerity, in  his  words.  Nervousness  swept  over  him  again 
in  a  torrential  wave.  Never  again  would  he  be  the  same 
cynical,  cold-blooded  man  of  the  world  that  he  had  been 
two  months  ago. 


158  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Ulrich,  I  don't  see  how  I  can  get  ready  in  five  days. 
I  have  my  trousseau  to  get,  you  know." 

"Oh,  never  mind  about  getting  much.  A  few  frocks,  a 
lingerie  gown  or  two,  something  substantial  to  motor  in, 
or  get  nothing  new  at  all.  We  shall  be  quite  by  our- 
selves, you  know,  so  we  won't  have  to  bother  much  about 
dressing  and  fussing.  We're  going,  you  know,  to  vege- 
tate, and  to  love " 

A  frightened  look  came  into  her  face ;  he  felt  her  hands 
grow  cold  even  while  he  held  them.  His  own  nervous- 
ness increased,  seemed  to  tower  spirally,  to  threaten  to 
engulf  him,  and  this  time  it  was  due  to  his  fear  that  her 
scruples  would  reawaken,  would  perhaps  begin  troubling 
her  after  she  had  gone  away  with  him,  after  it  was  too 
late ! 

She  withdrew  her  hands  from  his,  and  this  tended  to 
heighten  his  impression.  To  his  surprise  she  placed  her 
hands  upon  his  shoulder,  and  laid  hei  cheek  upon  her 
hand.  The  action,  insignificant  in  itself,  conveyed  an  in- 
effable tenderness,  and  all  his  fears  fell  away  from  him 
as  he  realized  how  complete  was  her  surrender. 

He  gazed  adoringly  upon  the  sweet,  softly  flushed  face. 
His  arm  encircled  her  waist,  pressed  her  a  little  in- 
sistently perhaps.  She  removed  her  left  hand  from  his 
shoulder,  and  shifted  it  under  his  hand,  forcing  his  fin- 
gers to  relax  their  tension.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  and 
as  he  watched  her  face,  he  saw  a  sunny  smile  dawning 
about  her  mouth. 

"What  are  you  smiling  about,  Alice?" 

"I  am  wondering  how  much  more  time  you  are  going 
to  waste  before  you  kiss  me?" 

He  laughed  joyously.  He  had  fought  and  struggled 
for  her  as  he  had  never  fought  for  any  woman  before, 
and  now  that  he  had  won  her,  he  did  not  even  embrace 


THE    GREATER    JOY  159 

her.  He  kissed  her  upon  the  mouth.  Her  lips  parted. 
She  uttered  a  little  cry.  But  his  mouth  did  not  release 
hers. 


CHAPTER  XI 

It  was  quarter  of  five  in  the  afternoon  when  the  large 
touring  car  majestically  rolled  along  under  the  stone 
archway,  one  of  the  five  entrances  to  "The  Hermitage." 
At  the  top  of  the  arch  was  a  dove-cote,  and  the  birds 
were  fluttering  about  and  cooing.  Beyond,  the  entire 
mountainside  was  crowned  with  laurel.  Great,  dome- 
shaped  shrubs,  so  full  of  the  shell-pink,  crown-shaped 
blossoms  that  the  foliage  was  visible  only  along  the  lower 
edge,  like  a  dark  skirt,  made  the  mountain  gloriously 
radiant.  There  were  dozens  and  scores  and  hundreds  of 
these  shrubs ;  in  parts  they  stood  so  closely  crowded  to- 
gether as  to  form  a  billowy  ridge  of  pink.  Before  them 
undulated  a  sea  of  bracken,  as  beautiful  and  well- formed 
as  Boston  fern;  back  of  them  a  mountain-ridge,  taller 
than  their  own,  reposed  in  inscrutable  majesty  against 
an  indigo  blue  sky. 

"Have  you  seen  anything  more  wonderful,  Ulrich?  I 
am  glad  you  brought  me  here !  Oh,  it  is  so  good  to  be 
alive,  to  be  here  with  you !  Ulrich,  you  are  not  looking 
at  the  mountain  laurel  at  all." 

"No,  I  am  looking  at  something  far  sweeter — at  you." 
"Don't,  dear.    Don't  spoil  the  landscape  by  becoming 
personal.    It  is  simply  wicked  not  to  enjoy  such  a  scene 
to  the  uttermost." 

"That  almost  sounds  as  if  enjoying  it  were  a  task." 

"A  pleasant  task.     Nevertheless  a  task.     For  I  will 

make  a  confession.    For  me  also  there  exists  some  one 

160 


THE    GREATER    JOY  161 

upon  whom  I  would  rather  gaze  than  upon  the  finest 
landscape  in  the  world.  In  spite  of  this,  I  intend  to  do 
my  duty  by  the  landscape." 

"Alice,  I  warn  you,  I  am  driving,  and  the  man  at  the 
wheel  is  not  supposed  to  be  regaled  with  intoxicants  of 
any  sort.    It's  dangerous." 

"That  being  so,  the  man  at  the  gear  ought  to  make  a 
dummy  of  himself." 

The  car  halted  abruptly. 

"Kiss  me,  Alice,"  he  commanded. 

"You're  insatiable."  She  pulled  his  head  forward, 
pinching  the  lobes  of  his  ears  as  she  did  so,  and  kissed 
his  brow. 

"Ulrich,  darling,  I  am  so  excruciatingly,  so  distress- 
ingly happy." 

"Not  a  bit  of  regret,  dear?" 

"What  a  question  for  the  bridegroom  to  ask  the 
bride!" 

But  he  did  not  start  the  car.  He  had  turned  to  the 
side  of  the  road  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  val- 
ley. Some  two  thousand  feet  below  them  was  the  vil- 
lage. It  was  only  five  o'clock,  the  sun  was  still  high, 
blazing  down  upon  them  in  a  torrent  of  heat,  but  in 
the  distance,  over  mountains  and  in  valkys  and  dales,  and 
in  all  the  depressions  upon  the  tops  of  the  mountains  so 
far  away  that  the  valleys  looked  like  mere  dimples,  and 
their  roads  wandering  circuitously  to  the  tops  were  but 
threads  of  a  barely  distinguishable  shade  of  green;  over 
all  these  distant  spaces  brooded  a  thick  vapor,  a  humid 
mist  that  shifted  from  purple  to  lavender  and  from  lav- 
ender to  smoke-gray. 

Ulrich  found  at  last  what  his  eyes  were  seeking. 

"Do  you  see  that  house  in  the  village,  Alice,  where  the 
light  is  burning,  yonder,  near  the  white  church  steeple  ?" 


162  THE    GREATER    JOY 

It  took  her  a  few  minutes  to  find  it.  When  she  had 
located  it,  he  said: 

"A  minister  lives  there.  If  there  is  any  feeling  of 
distress  in  your  foolish,  tender  little  heart,  we'll  'phone 
him." 

The  circumstance  was  wholly  unpremeditated,  and  he 
knew,  as  he  spoke,  that  for  the  first  time  he  had  been 
sincere  in  offering  to  marry  her. 

"I  think  we've  decided  all  that,  Ulrich,  dear,"  she  said. 
"Unlike  Crookback  Dick,  I  am  in  the  giving  mood  to- 
night.    So  you  must  play  beneficiary." 

Her  eyes  told  him  what  her  lips  would  not  say,  that 
she  loved  him  the  better  for  his  thought  of  her. 

The  ''Hermitage"  had  been  built  by  a  famous  artist, 
who  had  since  died,  and  it  was  from  his  widow  that 
Ulrich  had  secured  a  three  months'  lease.  The  grounds 
were  exquisitely  laid  out,  and  the  lawns  were  as  well 
kept  as  the  grass  of  a  park.  The  roads  were  firm  and 
hard,  and  the  dust  had  been  laid  with  oil.  The  house 
was  built  on  a  rocky  cliff,  and  immediately  below  it  was 
an  Italian  garden,  with  pool,  brick  walls,  marble  seats 
and  statuary.  Cedars  supplied  the  place  of  the  customary 
ilex  hedge.  Alice  did  not  care  for  this  feature,  and  she 
was  about  to  remark  that  it  reminded  her  of  a  cemetery, 
when  Ulrich  commented  that  he  considered  this  Italian 
garden  by  far  the  most  artistic  and  true  to  the  Italian 
spirit  of  any  he  had  seen  in  America.  She  was  glad  she 
had  not  aired  her  view,  which  she  felt  vaguely  would 
have  distressed  him  as  provincial,  and  she  determined 
that  when  she  got  back  to  New  York  she  would  read 
up  on  art  and  painting  and  architecture  and  "such 
things,"  so  as  to  be  able  to  converse  with  him  intelli- 
gently, and  not  merely  play  the  stupid  listener,  when  art 
topics  came  up. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  163 

There  were  times  when  he  made  her  feel  very  callow 
and  unformed  and  raw,  and  she  was  not  quite  over  the 
feeling  when  they  reached  the  house. 

The  house  was  built  in  the  English  style,  spreading 
and  spacious,  with  the  near-to-the-ground  effect  to  which 
the  English  architects  are  so  partial.  Ulrich  had  highly 
praised  the  architecture  when  showing  her  some  photo- 
graphs of  the  place,  and  the  mullioned  windows,  the  flat 
roof  with  its  square  tower,  pleased  him  particularly.  He 
pointed  this  out  to  her  now,  and  also  drew  her  attention 
to  the  noble,  modified  Gothic  facade  which  ran  along  the 
southern  side  of  the  house,  about  and  under  which  clus- 
tered several  high  red  rose-bushes. 

They  walked  to  the  steps  of  the  house  together,  but 
suddenly  Alice  drew  back.  The  entire  steps  were  cov- 
ered with  a  shimmering,  golden  stuff  that  gleamed  and 
reflected  the  rays  of  the  dying  sun  like  so  much  beaten 
gold. 

"What  is  it  ?"  exclaimed  Alice.  "How  beautiful  it  is ! 
But,  oh,  Ulrich,  it  is  a  pity  to  step  on  it." 

She  turned  to  him,  but  instead  of  answering  her  ques- 
tion, he  regarded  her  with  an  inscrutable  smile,  a  smile 
in  which  there  was  something  like  cruelty. 

"What  is  it,  Ulrich  ?"  she  asked  in  a  subdued  voice. 
"Gold  leaf?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Something  far  different,"  he  said,  "and  more  diffi- 
cult to  procure.  I  almost  despaired  of  getting  it — them 
— in  time." 

"It?    Them?" 

"Place  your  foot  upon  it,  and  see  if  you  cannot  guess 
what  it  is." 

She  obeyed  him.  The  golden  stuff  crackled  like  dry 
leaves  under  her  foot,  and  as  she  drew  back,  she  saw 


164  THE    GREATER    JOY 

that  the  pressure  of  her  foot,  light  as  it  had  been,  had 
marred  the  beautiful  sheen.  The  impression  of  her  foot 
left  a  dull,  bald  spot. 

"Ulrich,  it  isn't— it  can't  be "     With  a  sense  of 

nausea  she  recognized  what  it  was. 

"Two  thousand  goldfish  died  so  that  this  effect  might 
be  secured,"  he  smiled.  "It  is  a  regal  cloth  of  gold  that 
I  have  spread  for  my  bride  to  walk  upon,  is  it  not?" 

"Ulrich,  you  are  cruel,  you  are  terrible!"  She  shud- 
dered, and  as  he  touched  her  elbow,  as  if  to  assist  her  up 
the  golden  stairs,  she  shuddered  again. 

"Sweetheart,"  he  murmured,  "love  is  a  strange  thing. 
It  is  easy  enough  to  be  happy  when  we  love  if  everything 
about  is  happy  and  instinct  with  life.  But  a  love  that  is 
truly  great,  I  should  like  to  say  a  classic  love,  desires 
and  requires  a  more  flamboyant  background.  If  we  can 
slaughter  and  kill  for  the  sake  of  creating  one  precious, 
incomparable  and  original  moment  in  the  history  of  our 
love,  then  indeed  can  our  love  stand  the  ordeal  by  fire, 
then  indeed  is  our  love  real  love,  love  such  as  informed 
the  gods  of  old  when  Pan  still  made  music  in  woodland 
and  glen." 

She  regarded  him  with  eyes  of  horror,  but  as  he  spoke 
the  horror  was  allayed  and  transformed  to  fascination. 

"You  are  terrible,  Ulrich!"  she  repeated,  and  kissed 
him. 

Turning,  she  ran  lightly  up  the  stairs,  and  having 
reached  the  veranda,  looked  back  upon  the  havoc  her 
small  feet  had  made. 

Her  footsteps  brought  the  servants.  The  butler  and 
the  housekeeper  knew  Ulrich,  and  respectfully  they 
greeted  him  and  Alice.  Ulrich,  when  leasing  the  place, 
had  represented  her  to  be  his  cousin. 

It  took  Alice  just  an  hour  to  bathe,  and  dress  her  hair 


THE    GREATER    JOY  165 

and  don  a  lingerie  robe.  One  of  the  maids  hooked  her 
gown,  and  then  she  went  downstairs  and  sat  down  on  the 
veranda  to  wait  for  Ulrich.  He  was  so  long  in  coming, 
that  Alice  became  impatient  and  went  for  a  stroll.  She 
discovered  a  two-story  observatory  built  upon  a  high 
cliff,  from  where  the  view  was  even  more  magnificent 
and  extended  than  from  the  house. 

She  sat  down  in  the  second  story  of  this  little  rustic 
house  to  enjoy  the  summer  solitude  and  to  do  some  seri- 
ous thinking.  She  had  found  it  necessary,  of  late,  to 
actually  cultivate  serious  and  concentrated  thought.  But 
her  mind  wandered  and  strayed  back  to  her  lover. 

It  is  really  remarkable,  she  thought,  how  a  rational 
human  being  can  sit  for  hours  and  hours  and  do 
nothing  but  think  of  another  human  being,  and  keep  on 
thinking  of  him  all  the  time.  She  thought  of  his  eyes 
and  of  the  strange  little  flashes  of  light  they  emitted; 
she  thought  of  the  tortured,  sinuous  line  into  which  his 
mouth  fashioned  itself  before  kissing  her ;  of  his  smooth- 
ness, and  suavity,  and  languid  distinction;  and  then  she 
thought  of  the  little  cruel  smile  that  sometimes  came  to 
the  corners  of  his  mouth.  What  did  it  mean?  Would 
he  be  cruel  to  her  some  day?  How  and  when  was  this 
mad  love  of  theirs  destined  to  end?  Would  he  be  the 
first  to  desire  a  separation?     Would  she? 

She  had  thought  of  all  this  before  more  than  once, 
and  she  did  not  wish  to  think  of  it  now,  and  she  began  to 
wish  she  had  not  come  away  from  the  house  alone.  A 
feeling  of  loneliness  came  over  her.  At  that  moment  she 
saw  him,  walking  away  from  the  observatory  in  which 
she  was  sitting,  in  the  direction  of  the  house.  Quickly 
she  called: 

"Ulrich,  Ulrich,  here  I  am — wait  for  me!" 

She  ran  down  the  spiral  stairway  as  fast  as  she  could 


166  THE    GREATER    JOY 

in  her  high-heeled,  low  shoes  and  the  long,  clinging 
gown.  He  stood  waiting  for  her  at  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs. 

"Didn't  you  see  me  ?"  she  asked  reproachfully. 

"Yes,  I  saw  you." 

"And  you  deliberately  walked  away  from  me?" 

He  sat  down  on  a  rustic  bench  and  took  both  her 
hands  in  his.     She  was  standing  before  him. 

"I  thought,  sweetheart,  that  perhaps  you  wanted  to  be 
alone  a  little  while;  you  have  had  a  big  dose  of  me  all 
day." 

"If  you  think  that,  I,  too,  must  have  been  too  much  for 
you." 

He  pulled  down  her  head  and  whispered  in  her  ear. 

She  drew  back,  her  face  flushing : 

"You  are  horrid,  Ulrich!" 

Her  lips  were  smiling,  and  she  averted  her  eyes. 

Making  room  for  her,  he  said: 

"Come  and  sit  down  beside  me,  Alice. 

Dubiously  she  regarded  the  rustic  bench. 

"I  do  not  trust  that  bench,  Ulrich,"  she  said  disap- 
provingly. "I  think  your  knee  will  be  far  safer  for  my 
gown." 

He  drew  her  upon  his  knee,  and  immediately  she  began 
brushing  his  eyebrows  with  her  fingers. 

"What's  the  matter  with  my  eyebrows  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Nothing.    They  are  perfect." 

"Alice,  do  you  know,  dear,  the  only  time  you  do  not 
wholly  please  me  is  when  you  pay  me  compliments." 

"I  am  sorry,  Ulrich.  I  pay  you  a  compliment  now  and 
then  merely  to  indemnify  myself  for  the  disagreeable 
fact  that  you  are  entirely  too  fine  looking  for  a  man.  You 
yourself  taught  me  a  man  should  be  brainy  rather  than 
handsome." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  167 

"Haven't  I  enough  brains  to  suit  you?"  he  asked,  a 
trifle  piqued. 

"Oh,  so,  so.  But  if  you  weren't  so  aggressively  hand- 
some— don't  frown,  Ulrich,  you  know  you  are  quite  the 
most  beautiful  masculine  creature  that  ever  lived — you 
might  have  still  more  brains  and  instead  of  being  merely 
a  well-known  physician  you  might  be  a  colossus,  a  sec- 
ond, a  second — why  don't  you  help  me  find  the  correct 
comparison,  Ulrich?" 

"Help  you  to  properly  defame  me?  Indeed  not,"  but 
he  laughed  at  her  audacity.  "Give  me  time,  my  dear,  I 
am  only  twenty-nine.  Perhaps  I  may  some  day  be  a 
truly  great  man." 

"Perhaps."  She  kissed  him.  "We'll  hope  for  the 
best.  Meanwhile,  Ulrich  darling,"  her  tone  became  coax- 
ing, "I  am  sure  you  cannot  answer  offhand  a  simple  ques- 
tion I  am  going  to  ask.  In  what  part  of  the  body  is  the 
skin  strongest?" 

He  began  in  a  professional  tone : 

"You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  the  epidermis " 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  spurt  of  rippling  laughter. 

"You  dear,  sweet,  silly  thing,"  she  said.  "I  told  you 
you  couldn't  answer  me  offhand.  Shall  I  tell  you?  The 
skin  of  the  lips  is  strongest.  If  it  weren't,  our  lips  would 
be  entirely  worn  away  from  all  the  kissing  we  have  done 
to-day." 

"You  mischievous  little  baggage " 

She  kissed  him. 

"Now  I  have  cleansed  your  lips  from  the  blot  left  there 
by  those  naughty  names  you  called  me." 

"You  mischievous  little  baggage,"  he  repeated  wan- 
tonly, "now  cleanse  them  again." 

"No,  Ulrich,  no.  I  am  not  a  professional  window- 
cleaner." 


168  THE    GREATER    JOY 

Divided  between  laughter  and  desire,  he  crushed  her 
to  him. 

"My  sweetheart,"  he  murmured,  "you  are  utterly,  ut- 
terly delicious  I" 

"It  really  seems  so."  She  gave  him  a  look  of  tanta- 
lizing demureness.  "I  seem  to  have  reduced  your  usu- 
ally rich  diction  to  meagreness.  You  repeated  the  same 
adjective  twice." 

He  smothered  her  in  kisses. 

"You  perceive,"  he  said  finally,  "my  diction  can  be 
diminished  even  beyond  the  repetition-of-the-same-adjec- 
tive  point." 

"I  have  already  suspected  as  much,"  she  said  gravely. 

They  burst  out  laughing  and  fell  into  each  other's 
arms.  Madly  he  began  kissing  her  throat.  His  kisses 
were  no  longer  caresses ;  they  were  an  assault,  an  attack. 

"That  is  the  way  I  should  like  to  die,"  she  murmured. 

"What  are  you  saying  ?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"Ulrich  darling,  when  you  no  longer  love  me  then  do 
me  the  kindness  of  killing  me  by  biting  into  my  throat, 
by  severing  the  jugular  vein.  And  hold  me  in  your  arms, 
Ulrich,  until  I  die,  until  I  have  bled  to  death." 

"What  a  horrible  thing  to  say,  sweetheart !" 

But  the  suggestion  whipped  his  blood  into  flame,  flag- 
ellated his  senses.  Madness  seemed  to  surge  to  his  brain, 
fire  through  his  veins.  His  breath  became  labored  and 
thick. 

She  lay  in  his  arms  limp,  inert,  silent,  like  a  victim 
awaiting  the  stroke  of  the  executioner's  knife.  He  felt 
an  almost  uncontrollable  desire  to  plunge  his  teeth  into 
the  soft,  white  column  of  throat.  She  wore  a  low-necked 
gown,  and  his  lips  sought  her  neck. 

Struggling  to  get  away,  she  exclaimed: 

"Ulrich,  you  are  behaving  horribly.    I  believe  you  tore 


THE    GREATER    JOY  169 

my  gown.  Heavens,  how  you  have  mussed  it!"  Look- 
ing at  him  reproachfully,  she  added,  "I  made  a  mistake. 
The  bench  would  have  been  safer." 

She  sat  down  on  a  bench  opposite  to  him,  and  delib- 
erately turned  her  back  to  the  west. 

"What  a  beautiful  sunset  we  are  having!"  she  said, 
looking  at  him. 

"And  you  are  getting  such  a  charming  view  of  it,"  he 
mocked. 

"We  are  really  behaving  shockingly,"  she  said  in  a 
low,  modest  voice.  Both  laughed.  He  pulled  out  his 
watch. 

"Seven  o'clock,"  he  said;  "supper  is  waiting.  Come, 
sweetheart.    I  am  hungry." 

They  walked  silently  to  the  house,  arm  in  arm.  The 
sun  was  back  of  them.  They  were  walking  away  from 
the  light,  and  this  seemed  to  symbolize  to  her  her  past 
and  her  future.  She  became  contemplative,  sad,  melan- 
choly. Her  merriness,  her  mischievousness  was  gone. 
She  had  come  to  the  crossing  of  the  ways  and  she  had 
chosen.  After  to-night  there  was  no  power  in  the  world 
that  could  give  her  back  what  she  was  about  to  sur- 
render. * 


CHAPTER  XII 

He  had  finally  prevailed  upon  her  to  retire.  They  were 
together  in  the  sitting-room.  At  the  other  end  of  the 
hall  was  his  bedroom.  Adjoining  the  sitting-room  was 
her  dressing-room  and  her  bedroom,  the  room  which 
they  were  to  share. 

"Ulrich,  is  there  no  maid  about —  ?" 

"They  have  all  gone  to  bed.  You  told  me  expressly 
you  needed  no  maid."  He  paused,  looking  at  her  mis- 
chievously.   "Can  I  help  you?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  I  can  manage  alone." 

"You  know  very  well  you  cannot  without  ruining  that 
lovely  gown.  Be  sensible,  dear,  turn  around ;  let  me  help 
you." 

"No,  no!" 

"Why  not?"  he  passed  his  arm  around  her.  "Why 
not  ?"  he  asked  in  a  low,  insinuating  voice,  the  voice  that 
never  failed  to  make  her  tremble,  that  made  her  fear  him, 
its  softness  seemed  so  suggestive  of  the  feline  grace  of 
the  panther  approaching  its  prey  on  velvet  paws. 

"No,  Ulrich  dear.  No.  Please  go  away,  please  don't 
kiss  me." 

She  cowered  under  his  kisses,  pressing  away  from  him, 
resisting,  unyielding. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?    You  are  trembling." 

"Ulrich,  I  am  so  frightened!" 

The  words  came  with  a  little  gasp.  Her  face  was  very 
white,  the  hand  that  touched  his  cold  as  death. 

"Of  course  you  are  frightened.  Why  won't  you  let  me 
,170 


THE    GREATER    JOY  171 

kiss  you?  My  kisses  would  reassure  you."  He  spoke 
easily,  smiling  down  into  her  eyes.  She  essayed  to  smile 
in  return,  and  put  her  cold  fingers  upon  his  lips,  as  if  to 
silence  him.    He  kissed  them  rapturously. 

"Let  me  help  you,"  he  urged  once  more,  coaxingly. 

4'Well,  then,  you  may.     But  Ulrich " 

"Yes,  yes,  fear  nothing.  My  conduct  will  be  emi- 
nently proper." 

He  began  to  do  so  very  gently,  and  not  as  slowly  as 
she  had  anticipated.  Having  completed  the  task,  he 
kissed  her  on  the  back,  a  little  below  the  nape  of  the 
neck.  It  was  no  more  than  she  had  expected,  and  she 
made  no  protest.  As  she  turned  about  to  face  him,  after 
he  had  disengaged  her,  he  deftly  caught  her  waist  and 
slipped  it  down  from  the  shoulders  and  from  her  arms, 
tangling  the  lower  part  of  her  arms  and  her  hands  in  the 
filmy  stuff. 

"Please,  please!"  she  begged. 

He  clasped  her  to  his  breast. 

"Don't  be  foolish,  sweetheart.  What  is  the  harm?" 
Holding  her  with  one  arm,  he  slipped  the  fleecy  shoul- 
der straps  of  her  garments  down  from  her  shoulder,  over 
the  upper  arm  and  imprinted  kiss  after  kiss  upon  her 
bare  shoulder. 

"Ulrich !    Please,  dear,  don't." 

"What,  afraid  of  me?  Alice,  dearest,  how  foolish  you 
are !  You  say  you  are  in  love  with  me — why  then  pre- 
tend it  while  having  upon  your  shoulder  that  soulless, 
heartless,  feelingless  bit  of  linen  for  my  appreciative 
lips  ?" 

She  laughed  nervously. 

"Ulrich,  I  am  sure  you  want  to  smoke  a  cigarette." 

"What  puts  such  nonsense  into  your  head?  I  never 
felt  less  like  smoking  in  my  life.    Do  you  suppose  a  man 


172  THE    GREATER    JOY 

expecting  to  banquet  on  champagne  and  canvas-back 
duck  first  blunts  his  appetite  by  eating  Irish  stew?" 

"It  is  very  horrid  of  you  to  compare  me  to  canvas- 
back  duck!" 

"Very  well.  The  next  time  I  shall  compare  you  to 
Irish  stew." 

She  laughed,  as  he  had  meant  she  should,  but  there 
was  a  note  of  hysteria  in  her  laugh,  and  the  two  little 
red  spots,  the  usual  danger  signals,  showed  prominently 
on  either  cheek. 

He  released  her  and  helped  her  into  a  chair. 

"Alice,  dear,"  he  said,  "you  are  nervous.  That  is 
natural.  Do  you  not  think  as  much  depends  for  me  upon 
the  impression  I  make  upon  you,  as  for  you  upon  the  im- 
pression you  make  upon  me?  I  love  you,  I  adore  you. 
[You  know  how  madly.  Think  then  what  I  were  to  suffer 
if  you,  at  the  end  of  a  week  were  to  say  to  me,  'Ulrich, 
you  are  not  the  sort  of  man  I  supposed.  You  are  defi- 
cient in  delicacy,  you  have  entirely  too  much  tempera- 
ment, and  the  violence  of  your  desire  frightens  and  in  no 
way  delights  me.  I  have  made  a  mistake  and  I  must 
bid  you  adieu/  Do  you  think  that  would  be  pleasant 
for  me?  That  sort  of  thing  has  happened  to  men,  as 
well  as  to  women." 

The  removal  of  his  immediate  presence  had  restored 
her  to  comparative  tranquillitv.  The  light  of  mischief 
glimmered  in  her  eye. 

"Surely,  Ulrich,  that  has  never  happened  to  you?" 

"Oh,"  he  answered  airily,  "I  have  met  with  one  or 
two  unappreciative  women." 

The  insolence  of  his  conceit  brought  a  smile  to  her 
lips.  But  again,  with  alarm,  he  noted  that  lurking  note 
of  hysteria.  He  began  to  fear  she  might  spoil  this  night 
of  nights  for  him.     Yet  he  could  not  believe  it.     He 


THE    GREATER    JOY  173 

thought  her  a  woman  of  too  much  breeding  to  lose  con- 
trol of  herself  in  that  way.  He  had  perceived  with  plea- 
sure that  she  had  slipped  the  waist  completely  from  her 
figure,  instead  of  slipping  it  back  over  her  shoulders,  as 
he  had  half  suspected  she  would.  She  had  done  it  quite 
unconsciously,  without  any  show  of  embarrassment,  and 
he  felt  the  keenest  gratification  at  seeing  her  so  compla- 
cent and  self-unconscious,  for  it  was  one  of  his  dogmas 
that  by  such  small  tokens  does  the  thoroughbred  woman 
establish  her  claim  to  good  breeding.  He  had  half 
dreaded  that  with  feigned  modesty  she  would  draw 
the  waist  back  over  her  shoulders,  and  he  felt  that  he 
would  have  hated  her  for  doing  it. 

Now  she  sat  there,  her  back  turned  to  the  soft  glow  of 
the  wood-fire  which  the  chill  June  evening  made  pleas- 
ing— her  face  and  the  exquisite  alabaster  of  her  shoul- 
ders and  bosom  illuminated  and  warmed  by  the  blood- 
red  glow  of  the  flaming  pine  roots. 

How  beautiful  she  was !  His  lip  quivered  slightly,  as, 
without  appearing  to  see,  he  took  in  every  detail  of  the 
delicate  curves,  the  firmly  modelled  flesh.  A  sudden  fear 
came  over  him,  a  fear  such  as  he  had  never  experienced 
before  in  the  presence  of  any  woman,  a  fear  born  of 
misgivings  in  his  own  power  to  hold  the  affection  he  had 
won.  How  pure  and  white  and  pristine  she  seemed! 
What,  if  in  some  unintended  way,  he  should  offend  the 
innate  modesty,  which  he  felt  was  one  of  the  fundamen- 
tal traits  of  her  character,  was  perhaps,  its  keynote  ? 

He  meant  to  give  her  as  much  freedom  as  she  wished. 
If  she  seemed  to  prefer  it,  he  would  leave  her  by  her- 
self till  to-morrow.  On  the  other  hand,  she  was  pas- 
sionately fond  of  him,  and  undue  consideration  on  his 
part  for  her  modesty  might  offend  her,  and  make  her 
doubt  the  strength  of  his  love,  if  he  failed  to  employ 


174  THE    GREATER    JOY 

some  of  that  gentle  force  which  is  a  lover's  privilege ; 
the  latter  imprudence  might  thus  be  the  greater  of  the 
two. 

And  again,  in  the  glow  of  the  log-fire,  he  noted  the 
two  little  danger  signals  on  either  cheek,  speaking  so  elo- 
quently of  her  inward  perturbation. 

What  was  he  to  do?  It  was  out  of  the  question  to 
subjugate  her  senses  by  caressing  her,  as  he  would 
have  done  with  ninety-nine  women  out  of  a  hundred. 
Her  soul  would  remain  a  lucid  witness,  and  would  con- 
demn him,  and  no  intoxication  of  the  senses  would  ever 
help  him  to  overcome  the  arraignment  of  her  spirit.  Nor 
was  it  his  former  experience  with  women  that  warned 
him  against  committing  this  folly  of  follies.  For  the 
women  he  had  known  had  not  been  of  a  class  to  nurture 
observation  of  the  finer  and  more  complex  feminal  traits. 
It  was  the  inherited  instincts  of  his  race,  his  blood,  that 
sounded  the  tocsin  of  caution. 

How  was  he  to  win  her  soul  to  quiescence,  as  well  as 
her  flesh  ? 

She  had  stretched  out  one  white  arm,  and  in  doing  so? 
had  touched  a  huge  chest  standing  near  her. 

"What  is  this  chest,  Ulrich  ?"  she  asked.  "I  noticed  it 
before.    The  carving  is  magnificent.,, 

"It  is  an  Italian  marriage  coffer,  a  cassone,  and  I  pur- 
chased it  for  you,  hoping  it  would  please  you." 

And  in  a  low-pitched  voice  he  told  her  how  the  Ital- 
ians of  the  Renaissance  when  a  little  daughter  was  born, 
immediately  began  preparing  against  the  festival  of  fes- 
tivals in  a  woman's  life  by  causing  one  of  these  cassones 
to  be  carved  for  her,  and  when  the  florid,  ornate  design 
which  that  efflorescent  period  was  bound  to  evolve,  was 
completed,  the  mother  of  the  little  girl  who  would 
one  day  own  it,  began  to  fill  it  with  choice  linen,  rare 


THE    GREATER    JOY  175 

laces,  costly  silks  and  fabrics,  choice  pieces  of  silverware, 
each  a  work  of  inimitable  art  wrought  with  elaborate 
care  and  with  that  loving  patience  which  characterized 
the  artists  and  the  artisans  of  the  Renaissance,  and  to 
which  is  largely  due  the  perfection  of  detail,  the  minute 
exquisiteness  of  each  particular  which  is  the  hall-mark  of 
this  period.  Sometimes,  if  the  parents  were  wealthy, 
some  great  artist,  Benvenuto,  Cellini  or  Ghiberti,  was 
commissioned  to  design  and  to  have  fashioned  under  his 
supervision  a  set  of  Apostolic  spoons,  which  consisted  of 
thirteen  spoons,  twelve  of  which  represented  the  twelve 
apostles,  the  thirteenth  being  the  Saviour  spoon.  Only 
two  or  three  of  these  Apostolic  sets  remained  extant, 
and  only  one  of  these  was  complete.  The  plethoric  im- 
agination of  the  Renaissance  in  no  branch  of  art  ex- 
pressed itself  more  fully  and  with  more  riotous  voluptu- 
ousness than  in  the  work  of  the  silversmiths.  In  these 
spoons,  for  instance,  not  only  were  no  two  alike,  because 
the  figure  of  the  Apostle  necessarily  differed,  but  the 
general  design,  the  surrounding  embellishments  upon 
which  the  Apostle  was  poised  were  varied  with  infinite 
and  extraordinary  cunning.  A  general  unity  of  im- 
pression, a  harmony  of  appearance  was  maintained, 
which  was  created  by  the  arrangement  of  the  varying 
details  of  each  individual  spoon,  but  not  by  the  details 
themselves,  so  that  it  was  possible  to  identify  two  spoons 
of  the  same  set  at  a  glance,  in  spite  of  the  wide  di- 
vergence in  their  embellishments.  Each  Apostle  had  cer- 
tain insignia  which  were  peculiarly  his  own,  which,  con- 
sequently, must  be  utilized  in  the  design  for  his  spoon; 
so  that  just  as  the  Italian  painters  used  a  blue  robe  in 
garbing  the  Madonna  to  denote  purity,  and  a  red  robe  to 
typify  the  love  of  a  Mary  or  a  Magdalen,  the  silversmiths 
used  the  design  of  an  eagle  or  of  eagles'  feathers  to 


176  THE    GREATER    JOY 

throw  into  relief  the  figure  of  St.  John  the  Evangelist,  the 
eagle  being  the  Judaic  symbol  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
while  the  key  and  the  cross  denoted  Peter,  the  sword  St. 
Paul,  and  the  girdle  of  the  Virgin,  St.  Thomas. 

Thus  the  artists  of  every  guild  possessed  a  mystical 
language  of  their  own,  a  language  at  once  subtle  and  po- 
etical, which  nevertheless  because  of  the  singular  re- 
ligious fervor  of  the  age  in  which  these  artists  flourished, 
was  as  familiar  to  the  people  as  the  signs  of  the  alpha- 
bet, nay,  more  so.  And  so,  for  a  brief  period  of  the 
world's  history,  the  pictorial  arts — painting,  sculpture, 
the  silversmith's  craft — were  enabled  to  speak  and  not 
merely  to  portray,  a  gift  bestowed  upon  music  only  a 
generation  ago  by  Wagner,  when,  through  the  creation 
of  the  Leitmotif,  he  fashioned  a  symbolic  if  restricted, 
language  by  means  of  which  his  music  makes  not  merely 
a  blind  appeal  to  the  helpless  and  gagged  emotions,  but 
speaks  to  the  intellect  of  the  initiated  as  plainly  as  if 
the  message  were  couched  in  words  instead  of  in  sound. 

Alice  never  adored  her  lover  more  whole-heartedly 
than  when  the  musical  cadences  of  his  voice  were  em- 
ployed in  some  slightly  pedantic  discursiveness.  He  saw 
the  effect  he  had  produced,  and  was  satisfied. 

Her  soul  was  warming  at  touch  of  the  sensuous  charm 
he  was  enmeshing  her  with,  which  was  so  delicately 
sensuous  that  she,  all  aglow  with  the  pictures  he  was 
conjuring  for  her,  perceived  only  the  delicacy  and  not 
the  sensuousness.  The  peacock  wins  his  mate  by  spread- 
ing out  for  her  the  bewildering  splendor  of  his  feathery 
raiment,  the  thrush  performs  his  wooing  by  singing  his 
purest,  most  flutelike  song.  He,  too,  would  bring  this 
woman  into  complete  subjection  by  the  musical  mono- 
tone of  his  voice,  by  the  imagery  of  his  language,  by  the 
suggestiveness  of  his  thoughts. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  177 

■ 

"I  wish,"  she  said,  "there  were  one  of  those  spoons 
left  in  the  cassone.  And  it  was  very  good  of  you,  Ul- 
rich,  to  give  me  this." 

"Let  us  see,"  said  Ulrich,  "whether  perhaps  one  spoon 
is  left  in  the  chest." 

"Oh,  is  there  ariything  in  it  ?" 

"There  is.  But  I  was  in  doubt,  whether  to  ask  you  to 
look  at  the  contents  to-night  or  to-morrow." 

Troubled  vaguely  by  some  subtle  intonation  of  his 
voice,  she  turned  her  face  to  him. 

"Why  not  to-night?"  she  asked. 

"Let  us  look  at  them  to-night,"  he  answered  evasively. 

He  arose,  and  lighting  the  three  candles  of  a  brass  can- 
delabra placed  it  upon  the  chair  on  which  Alice  had  been 
seated.  Then  taking  a  key  from  his  pocket,  he  drew  up 
a  chair  before  the  cassone  and  proceeded  to  open  the 
huge  chest. 

"Are  you  coming,  Alice?" 

She  had  slipped  into  a  kimono  of  white  embroidered 
crepe  de  chine,  and  again  he  felt  a  twinge  of  joy  at  the 
amour  propre  which  she  displayed.  Another  woman 
might  have  knelt  at  his  knee,  as  she  was  now  doing,  glo- 
rying in  the  presentation  of  her  white  flesh  to  his  eye,  or 
forgetful  of  it  in  the  flush  of  momentary  excitement. 
But  with  the  certain  instinct  of  the  artist  whose  dis- 
cernment of  the  exigencies  of  the  moment  is  unfailing, 
she  had  entered  into  the  spirit  of  exaltation  in  which  he 
had  wrapped  himself,  helping  him  to  suppress  the  fortis- 
simo of  love  until  the  moment  of  the  crashing  finale,  es- 
pousing instead  the  unostentatious  pianissimo,  which, 
free  from  violence  and  discord,  plainly  allows  the  finest 
chords,  the  most  ecstatic  harmonies  to  dominate. 

Kneeling  close  beside  his  knee,  but  never  touching  it, 
she  watched  him  take  out  one  by  one  the  old  Venetian 


178  THE    GREATER    JOY 

necklaces  heavily  studded  with  turquoises  and  with  enor- 
mous pearls,  with  fantastic  protuberant  ornaments,  as 
large  as  peas,  and  as  finely  corrugated  as  a  brain-stone ; 
the  strange  silver  vessels  for  spices  in  the  shape  of 
knights  clad  in  full  coat  of  mail,  javelin,  breastplate,  cab- 
asset  and  all ;  the  salt  receptacles  in  the  form  of  mytho- 
logical beasts,  griffons  and  centaurs,  and  a  Medusa's 
head  through  the  silver  curls  of  which  the  pepper  had 
once  been  sprinkled  over  the  strange,  rich  foods  of  the 
guests  at  a  banquet  in  the  Doge's  Palace. 

A  strand  of  coral  beads  left  her  breathless  with  de- 
light. Allowing  them  to  run  through  the  fingers  of  one 
hand,  she  continued  to  kneel,  now  resting  her  elbow  upon 
Ulrich's  knee.  Her  eyelids  were  lowered;  the  mouth, 
half-open,  gleamed  the  same  hue  as  the  pink  coral  in  the 
uncertain  light  of  the  room. 

At  contact  of  her  elbow  with  his  knee,  a  sharp  spasm 
of  pain  swept  through  Ulrich.  Oh,  to  be  able  to  take  her 
in  his  arms  this  moment,  without  fear  of  frightening 
her,  of  arousing  her  hostility,  her  rancor !  His  self-con- 
trol ebbed  and  waned ;  like  an  arrow  the  pain  was  shoot- 
ing through  him,  setting  every  nerve  aquiver. 

Setting  his  teeth,  he  said  in  an  uncertain  voice,  a  voice 
rendered  husky,  thick  and  unsteady  by  emotion: 

"There  is  something  more  below  at  the  bottom  of  the 
cassone.  You  may  wish  to  look  at  most  of  it  alone, 
sweetheart.  Only  this  I  want  to  show  you,  to  tell  you 
how  it  was  made." 

Stooping,  he  drew  forth  a  linen  robe  of  gossamer  fine- 
ness, as  delicate  and  diaphanous  almost  as  bolting  cloth, 
with  a  design  as  fine  and  marvellously  intricate  as  the 
scroll-work  and  Arabesques  in  which  the  Moorish  artists 
who  built  the  Alhambra  loved  to  perpetuate  and  make 
visible  the  glories  of  their  fluid  imagination. 


PnT,:H 


STRAND  OF  CORAL  BEADS   LEFT   H^R   BREATHLESS   WITH    DI.UGHT. 

Page  179 


THE    GREATER    JOY  179 

"It  is  as  fine  as  cobweb,'"  she  exclaimed  joyfully.  "It 
is  wonderful!" 

"Below  are  other  robes,  and  garments  more  intimate, 
and  all  of  them,  Alice,  were  intended  for  the  trousseau  of 
a  Turkish  princess  with  a  taste  for  European  dress.  But 
the  match  was  broken  off,  and  I  was  fortunate  enough 
to  be  able  to  get  the  outfit.  For  you  must  know  that 
years  have  gone  to  the  making  of  it." 

With  a  shock  she  realized  that  he  had  sent  for  this  out- 
fit before  she  promised  herself  to  him.  How  sure  he 
had  been  of  her!  But  she  said  nothing,  while  he  con- 
tinued speaking.  And  in  the  same  musical  voice  as  be- 
fore, now  tremulous  with  the  passion  which  was  agitating 
him,  with  the  desire  which  he  could  barely  control,  mak- 
ing a  superhuman  effort  to  choose  words  which  seem- 
ingly innocuous  and  poetical,  would  nevertheless  induce 
in  her  a  condition  of  excitement  matching  his  own,  he 
painted  for  her  a  word-picture  of  a  small,  ivy-enshrouded 
convent  in  France  in  the  valley  of  the  Garonne,  where 
white-robed  sisters  of  a  contemplative  order  spent  their 
hours  of  recreation  in  embroidering  these  fairy-like  fab- 
rics. With  an  aim  as  deadly  as  the  marksmanship  of  a 
sharp-shooter,  he  described  to  her  the  life  of  these  nuns, 
dwelling  in  eternal  peace,  in  a  land  of  incessant  sunshine, 
beneath  cloudless  skies  that  day  after  day  poured  down 
a  golden  glory  of  heat,  while  the  horizon  was  bounded 
by  the  tall  convent  walls  that  circumvallated  the  convent 
gardens.  Their  sequestered  beauty  was  ideally  calculated 
to  arouse  visions  of  love,  and  was  abnormally  conducive 
to  the  fostering  of  that  subconscious  life  of  the  senses, 
which,  suppressed  successfully  through  years  and  years, 
would  ultimately  rise  in  aggressive  self-assertion,  in  re- 
bellion at  the  shackles  imposed  by  the  rules  of  the  con- 
vent.    And  these  women,  doomed  to  celibacy,  who  had 


180  THE    GREATER    JOY 

forfeited  the  privilege  of  ever  expecting  marriage,  whose 
entire  passion  of  love  must  be  employed  in  the  unwhole- 
some contemplation  of  the  beauties  and  splendors  of 
their  celestial  Bridegroom,  spent  sometimes  a  year  of 
their  lives,  sometimes  two  or  three  or  four,  in  complet- 
ing the  embroidery  of  one  single  garment  destined  to  be 
worn  by  a  bride  on  her  wedding  night,  to  adorn  her  on 
the  marriage  couch,  a  mute  witness  of  the  intoxication, 
the  terror  of  first  love. 

And  of  all  this,  these  white-robed  nuns,  in  their  soli- 
tary, sequestered  convent  walks,  in  the  still  hours  of  in- 
ward revelation  which  come  to  all  flesh  and  blood,  must 
have  some  premonition,  some  lurid  perception.  What, 
then,  were  the  emotions  aroused  in  them  by  such 
visions  ? 

Alice  had  withdrawn  her  elbows  from  his  knees,  and 
her  eyes  closed,  her  hands  folded  under  her  chin  as  if  in 
prayer,  she  knelt  as  an  alabaster  statue.  But  as  he  ceased 
speaking,  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  as  she  lifted  her  face 
he  saw  she  made  no  effort  to  disguise  the  emotion  which 
was  flooding  her.     She  was  aglow  with  passion. 

A  song  of  exultation  leaped  to  his  brain — raced 
through  his  blood.  He  had  won.  She  would  be  his, 
wholly  his,  entirely  subjugated,  completely  subdued. 
Without  further  ado  he  took  her  in  his  arms.  But  he  did 
not  kiss  her.  He  was  as  unable,  at  the  moment,  to  use 
his  lips  for  kisses  as  for  words.  His  heart  was  beating 
like  a  hammer. 

"Ulrich,  how  your  heart  is  beating!     I  can  feel  it." 

"It  is  you  who  are  making  it  beat  so  terribly,"  he  mur« 
mured. 

She  drew  away  from  him,  and  again  he  saw  a  fright- 
ened look  come  into  her  eyes.  Was  it  possible  that  even 
now  she  felt  alarm  rather  than  love  ? 


THE    GREATER    JOY  181 

"Alice,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  tell  you  a  parable.  There 
was  a  rosebud  which  promised  to  become  a  flower  of 
rare  and  peerless  beauty.  All  the  other  buds  on  the  same 
shrub  had  been  cut  away  to  give  the  entire  strength  of 
roots  and  leaves  to  this  one  bud.  The  sun  became  enam- 
ored of  this  rosebud,  and  day  after  day  lavished  his  care- 
fully tempered  rays  upon  her,  in  the  hopes  of  enjoying 
her  perfume  and  her  beauty  when  finally  the  rosebud 
would  consent  to  unfold  her  petals  as  a  token  of  her  ma- 
turity. When  the  sun  sent  the  rain  to  earth,  it  enjoined 
it  not  to  beat  upon  the  rose  too  tempestuously,  but  to 
lave  her  gently,  lest  the  rosebud  be  frightened  at  the 
fierceness  of  the  sun's  wooing.  Finally  the  bud  signified 
her  willingness  to  unfold  herself  in  the  full  majesty  of 
her  beauty  to  the  sun.  But  having  given  her  promise, 
she  suddenly  decided  that  she  desired  a  little  more  rain 
to  fall.  Obediently  the  sun  caused  it  to  rain.  Then  the 
rosebud  thought  she  needed  a  few  more  hours  of  sun- 
shine to  warm  her  after  the  cold  rainfall,  and  the  sun 
shone  his  prettiest.  By  that  time  it  was  late  in  the  day, 
and  would  you  believe  it,  that  minx  of  a  rosebud  then 
claimed  another  night's  repose  as  a  bud  after  the  exact- 
ing experiences  of  sunshine  and  rain.  The  sun  was 
complacent,  but  the  next  morning  that  abominable  little 
rosebud  led  him  through  the  same  genuflections  once 
more." 

As  Ulrich  finished,  Alice,  sitting  on  the  floor,  at  his 
knee,  threw  back  her  head,  and  to  his  amazement  and 
discomfiture,  burst  into  a  peal  of  unfeigned  and  entirely 

mhysterical  merriment. 

Composing  herself,  she  knelt,  and  lifting  his  chin,  she 
brushed  away  the  frown  that  had  gathered  on  his  brows 
with  her    fingers.     Then  she  said,  in  the  half- roguish, 

half-affectionate  way  he  had  learned  to  love  so  dearly : 


182  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Ulrich,  dear,  the  sun  showed  a  good  deal  of  delicacy 
and — stupidity.  I  am  sure  if  he  had  discreetly  retired 
behind  a  cloud,  the  rosebud  would  have  contemplated  her 
unrobing,  unfurling,  quite  sensibly,  like  any  other  well- 
bred,  decorum-loving  rose." 

He  kissed  her  rapturously.     Then  he  arose. 

"The  sun  withdraws,"  he  said.  "When  may  he  reap- 
pear from  behind  the  cloud?" 

"In  ten  minutes." 

She  began  undressing  hastily,  but  now  that  she  was 
alone  she  became  very  nervous,  and  the  reflections  which 
had  come  to  her  at  sunset  as  she  walked  away  from  the 
sun,  swarmed  back  upon  her.  Try  as  she  would,  she 
could  not  escape  the  upbraidings  of  conscience.  What 
terrible  sin  was  she  committing?  Had  she  lost  all  mod- 
esty? It  seemed  a  shameful  thing  that,  loving  him,  she 
would  feel  this  way.  Then  it  occurred  to  her  that  prob- 
ably every  woman,  married  or  unmarried,  felt  much  as 
she  did,  and  this  afforded  her  considerable  consolation. 
She  forced  herself  to  think  of  other  matters,  and  as  she 
slipped  into  the  nightrobe  for  which  she  had  paid  a 
riotous  price,  she  remembered  poor  Marie  Antoinette, 
and  her  horror  at  having  to  change  her  chemise  in  the 
presence  of  several  ladies-in-waiting.  She  wished  Ul- 
rich would  return.  She  would  forget  all  these  horrid 
and  uncomfortable  things  as  soon  as  he  kissed  her.  Cer- 
tainly he  had  been  exquisitely  kind  and  delicate.  It 
would  never  do  to  spoil  his  pleasure  by  allowing  him  to 
see  how  piteously  nervous  she  was.  She  suddenly  be- 
came aware  that  he  had  entered  the  room  and  had  closed 
the  door.  He  did  not  approach,  but  waited  behind  a 
japanned  screen  that  stood  near  the  door. 

"May  I  come,  Alice?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  Ulrich." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  183 

She  met  him  half  way,  and  flung  herself  into  his  arms. 

"Kiss  me,"  she  commanded. 

She  meant  to  be  brave,  but  she  could  not  control  the 
trembling  of  her  body.  And  her  hands  were  cold  as 
death.  She  was  grateful  to  him  for  not  appearing  to 
notice  her  nervousness. 

He  picked  her  up  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  into  the 
adjoining  room.  It  was  sweet  to  feel  him  so  strong  and 
agile,  sweet,  too,  to  feel  his  warm  arms  about  her  cold 
body  and  his  breath  upon  her  cheek. 

He  set  her  down  upon  a  small,  furry  bed-rug.  Its  soft 
lushness  was  almost  disagreeable.  Subconsciously  she 
withdrew  first  one  foot  and  then  the  other,  but  he  stood 
so  close  before  her  that  she  could  not  step  aside. 

"I  do  not  like  this  rug,"  she  said.  "What  is  it  made 
of?" 

He  laughed. 

"Canary-bird  feathers." 

"Ulrich,  you  are  terrible,  terrible!" 

With  a  gesture  like  a  frightened  child  that  wants  to 
be  taken  up  by  sheltering  arms,  she  put  out  her  arms  to 
him.  The  world  seemed  to  recede.  She  was  conscious 
only  of  his  presence  and  of  the  terrible  beating  of  the 
blood  in  her  veins. 

"Ulrich,  Ulrich,"  she  whispered,  "I  love  you,  I  adore 
you,  I  worship  you !" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"How  many  women  have  you  loved,  Ulrich?" 

"Surely,  you  do  not  expect  my  memory  to  be  as  in- 
fallible as  all  that,"  he  smiled. 

"That  is  witty,  but  hardly  kind — to  the  women." 

"A  little  kindness  leavened  by  wit  is  more  agreeable 
than  a  lot  of  kindness  unseasoned  by  the  Tabasco  sauce 
of  repartee." 

"I  have  noticed,  Ulrich,  dear,  that  you  frequently  em- 
ploy metaphors  based  upon  table  dainties.  Do  all  gour- 
mands do  that?" 

"Dear,  dear,  gourmands — men  who  overeat — would 
!>e  more  likely  to  refer  to  homely  fare,  leaving  it  to  the 
^gourmets — folks  who  love  the  tidbits  of  the  best  chefs — 
to  concern  themselves  with  the  dainties." 

"Thank  you  for  the  correction,  dear.  Nevertheless,  it 
Is  a  disgusting  habit  to  have,  to  compare  everything  un- 
der the  sun  to  eatables." 

"Not  everything,  Alice.  Not  everything.  I  have  not 
yet  compared  Strauss's  'Salome'  to  the  sausage  called 
Belloni,  although  the  temptation  to  do  so  has  been  great, 
since  you  invariably  pronounce  'Salome'  as  if  it  rhymed 
with  the  other.     It  is  a  provoking  habit  of  yours!" 

"A  month  together,  and  we  have  each  discovered  that 
the  other  has  an  unpleasant  habit !" 

They  regarded  each  other  with  mock  gravity,  and  then 
fell  into  each  other's  arms,  laughing  rapturously. 

He  was  the  first  to  withdraw  from  her  embrace. 

184 


THE    GREATER    JOY  185 

"What  is  that  perfume  you  are  using  to-day?"  he 
asked. 

"Lily  of  the  Valley.     Imported.    Don't  you  like  it?" 

"It's  odious." 

"I  will  never  use  it  again." 

"Please  don't." 

They  remained  silent  for  a  few  moments,  she  some- 
what amused  at  the  disgust  he  had  so  frankly  expressed 
and  which  had  been  caused  by  a  drop  of  a  very  delicious 
expensive  perfume. 

But  he  was  thinking. 

For  days  he  had  been  endeavoring  to  communicate  to 
her  an  important  piece  of  news.  So  far  his  courage  had 
failed  him.     He  could,  however,  defer  it  no  longer. 

"Alice,  the  King,  my  grandfather,  is  very  ill.  I  have 
had  three  cablegrams,  as  you  know,  in  as  many  days.  I 
may  have  to  return  home " 

"When?" 

"Next  week." 

"To-day  is  Friday.    What  day  next  week?" 

"I  am  afraid " 

"Out  with  it,  Ulrich." 

"Well,  I  ought  to  sail  on  Monday.  The  yacht  is  be- 
ing provisioned,  and  will  be  ready  by  Sunday  night. 
Will  you  come  with  me?" 

His  tone  was  tense  with  fear  of  a  refusal. 

She  sighed  as  she  said : 

"It  is  the  first  week  of  August.  The  Medical  School 
does  not  reopen  until  October.  I  can  be  back  by  then. 
Yes,  I  can  come."  Teasingly,  she  added:  "If  you  are 
sure  you  really  want  me." 

"If "    He  looked  at  her  steadily.     "Alice,"  he  said 

bluntly,  "I  had  hoped  you  would  consent  to  remain 
abroad  with  me." 


186  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Remain  abroad?"  she  exclaimed.  She  had  forced 
herself  to  ignore  the  future,  and  his  question  therefore 
held  neither  the  unexpected  nor  the  expected.  Now  he 
made  her  pause. 

"How  about  my  medical  studies,  Ulrich?  I  cannot 
just  be  your — your " 

"Sweetheart,"  he  prompted. 

"And  nothing  else." 

"Why  not?" 

"That  would  be  odious.  That  would  be  debasing  my- 
self.    I  do  not  think,  Ulrich,  I  can  do  that." 

Suddenly  an  idea  came  to  her. 

"Ulrich,  if  I  were  to  take  up  German  seriously — I 
know  a  little  now — couldn't  I  continue  my  studies 
abroad?    In  that  case " 

He  said  decisively : 

"I  would  never  consent  to  your  taking  a  medical  course 
abroad.  You  value  your  reputation,  I  believe.  Very 
well.  If  you  will  consent  to  come  with  me,  I  will  do 
what  I  can  to  protect  your  name,  but  it  would  be  quite 
impossible  to  do  so  if  you  were  to  take  a  medical  course 
abroad  and  form  a  large  circle  of  acquaintances. 
The  position  would  be  intolerable  for  you,  believe 
me." 

She  looked  at  him  askance.  She  did  not  quite  relish 
the  masterful  tone  he  had  assumed,  but  she  was  just 
enough  pleased  to  admit  that  if  his  attitude  was  unlover- 
like  for  the  first  time,  his  manner  was  precisely  the  man- 
ner which  a  domineering,  but  well-meaning,  husband 
would  employ. 

"But  Ulrich,  if  we  arranged  matters  the  way  I  want. 
we  would  be  able  to  see  so  much  more  of  each  other  than 
if  I  remain  here  and  you  return  home." 

"If  you  remain  here,  I  shall,  on  some  pretext  or  other, 


THE    GREATER    JOY  187 

manage  to  take  a  sail  over  every  three  or  four  months. 
I  suppose  we  can  then  manage  to  keep  up  appearances. 
You  can  continue  your  medical  studies,  but  you  will 
have  to  cut  out  hospital  work  and  take  a  small  apart- 
ment, and  not  be  on  visiting  terms  with  too  many  folks. 
Then  when  I  come,  we  can  practically  be  together  all  of 
the  time.', 

She  flushed  painfully. 

'That  would  be  the  best  plan,"  she  said  in  a  constrained 
voice,  "but  I  do  not  know  if  I  can  carry  it  out.  I  shall 
have  to  do  a  little  figuring.  I  am  not  rich,  Ulrich,  dear, 
and  I  do  not  wish  to  use  up  all  my  little  capital,  which 
I  should  have  to  do  if  I  give  up  the  hospital  work.  You 
see,  in  return  for  my  services  in  the  morning,  Doctor 
Etheridge  has  arranged  for  my  board." 

He  regarded  her  amusedly. 

"You  do  not  suppose  that  I  intend  to  allow  you  to  pay 
for  your  apartment,  do  you?"  he  asked.  "I,  of  course, 
expect  to  defray  all  the  expenses  of  your  housekeeping. 
As  we'll  have  to  discuss  that  topic  some  time  or  other, 
we  might  as  well  get  through  with  it  now.  Why  worry 
about  money  matters  ?  I  know  you  do,  dear.  Don't  you 
suppose  I  know  what  a  woman's  wardrobe  costs?  And 
yours  is  quite  impeccably  lovely.  This  simple,  smart  lit- 
tle morning  frock  you  are  wearing  cost  you  a  pretty 
penny.     Shall  I  guess  what  it  cost  you?" 

"Well?" 

"Sixty  dollars  at  least." 

"Fifty-nine  ninety."  She  laughed.  "It  was  horribly 
extravagant  of  me  to  get  it,  but  I  knew  it  would  please 
you.  It  is  so  Frenchy-looking.  It  does  please  you, 
doesn't  it?" 

"It  pleases  me  and  it  grieves  me.  It  grieves  me  when 
I  think  you  spent  your  precious   savings  on  all  these 


188  THE    GREATER   JOY 

pretty  feathers,  because  I  know  you  got  them  on  my  ac- 
count and  not  because  of  yourself." 

"What  if  I  did,  Ulrich,  dear?  I  never  dressed  very 
extravagantly  before,  and  then  for  the  last  three  years  I 
have  practically  lived  in  uniform.  But  after  I  had  prom- 
ised myself  to  you — I  did  so  want  to  look  au  fait — is  that 
the  right  way  to  pronounce  it  ?" 

Ulrich  was  delighted.  It  was  one  of  his  favorite  ex- 
pressions which  she  had  adopted  into  her  own  vocabu- 
lary. 

"Alice,  you  are  not  very  rich,  as  you  say,  and  there- 
fore, dear,  you  are  going  to  allow  me  to  pay  your  rent, 
your  butcher  and  grocer  bills,  your  dressmaker  and  de- 
partment store  accounts." 

"In  brief,  you  wish  to  keep  me!  No,  Ulrich,  a  thou- 
sand times,  no !"" 

He  had  expected  just  this.  How  different  she  was 
from  any  and  every  other  woman  he  had  known !  And 
how  he  loved  her ! 

She  put  her  head  against  his  shoulder  and  said : 

"It  was  very  sweet  of  you,  nevertheless,  Ulrich,  to 
think  of  it." 

He  protested : 

"A  man  usually  expects  to  be  the  provider." 

She  started  away  from  his  shoulder.  There  was  al- 
most a  wail  in  her  voice  as  she  exclaimed  bitterly : 

"Provider — for  his  wife — yes." 

"Alice,  sweetheart,  how  can  you  be  so  bitter?" 

"I'm  not  bitter.     Only — oh,  nothing." 

"I  didn't  imagine  you  felt  that  way  about  it." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  let  you  know  I  did,  Ulrich.  I'm 
sorry." 

"But  inasmuch  as  we  consider  ourselves  man  and  wife, 
why  take  this  stand?" 


THE    GREATER    JOY  189 

"Even  if  we  consider  ourselves  man  and  wife,  we're 
not  man  and  wife.  I  wish  you  would  ignore  the  subject, 
Ulrich.  I've  tried  to  be  brave,  and  I've  kept  the  pain 
away  out  of  sight,  but  it  hurts  me  dreadfully  when  I 
think  of  it.  And  I  will  not  accept  one  penny  from  you. 
I  cannot  make  a  paid  woman  of  myself,  even  for  you." 

"I  thought  you  were  happy." 

"I  am  happy,"  she  replied  vigorously.  Coming  to  sit 
on  his  knee,  she  added :  "Truly  and  really,  I  am,  Ulrich. 
I  was  silly  just  now,  I  dare  say.  Don't  crinkle  your  fore- 
head like  that.  Come,  I'll  massage  the  wrinkles  away, 
or  shall  I  kiss  them  away  ?" 

She  put  her  lips  against  his  forehead  softly. 

"Alice,"  he  said  coldly,  "at  this  moment  your  show  of 
affection  is  insincere.     It  is  unworthy  of  you." 

Her  arm  dropped  limply  to  her  side. 

"Alice,  won't  you  stay  abroad  with  me  ?" 

"If  you  will  allow  me  to  go  on  with  my  medical  studies 
as  soon  as  I  have  sufficient  German — yes." 

"Decidedly  not." 

"You  might  safely  make  the  promise.  It  will  take  me 
at  least  two  years  to  study  German.  Two  years,"  she 
added  meditatively,  "is  a  long  time." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked  with  sudden  fierce- 
ness. "Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  you  think  you'll 
be  tired  of  me  before  the  two  years  are  up  ?" 

"Ulrich,  what  an  expression !    Tired  of  you !" 

"If  you  didn't  mean  that,  just  what  did  you  mean?  I 
insist  on  knowing."1 

His  eyes  blazed  so  with  anger  that  she  was  frightened. 
She  was  surprised  at  this  outburst.  His  rage  was  out  of 
all  proportion  to  the  cause. 

"I  meant  nothing  at  all,"  she  stammered  apologetically. 
'I  used  the  words  stupidly.    One  uses  them  so  often." 


190  THE   GREATER   JOY 

"Perhaps  you  meant  that  I  would  tire  of  you?  Well, 
I  won't." 

"Ulrich!" 

"I  would  never  have  believed  it  possible  that  I  should 
be  quite  so  crazy  about  a  woman  as  I  am  about  you.  Fve 
seen  you  every  day  for  a  month,  and  I'm  more  wildly  in 
love  with  you  than  ever." 

There  was  something  almost  ludicrous  in  the  semi- 
defiance  with  which  he  hurled  these  words  at  her.  But 
it  did  not  occur  to  her  to  laugh.  She  sat  numb  and  still. 
His  anger  was  terrible,  but  there  was  some  of  the  sub- 
limity of  the  thunderstorm  about  it.  The  reserve 
strength,  the  colossal  momentum  of  force  which  she  had 
always  suspected  existed  underneath  his  easy  and  smooth 
exterior,  was  in  evidence  at  last. 

"I  believe  I  love  you  more  than  you  love  me,"  he  shot 
forth  again.     Quick  as  lightning  she  replied: 

"But  the  sacrifice  is  mine." 

"Yes,  and  I  wish  it  were  not,  if  you  are  going  to  throw 
it  up  to  me.  I  wouldn't  have  thrown  it  up  to  you,  if  I 
had  made  the  sacrifice!" 

"You  threw  it  up  to  me  the  evening  we  came  to  an 
agreement — you  let  me  understand  just  what  a  sacrifice 
it  would  be." 

"I  would  never  have  mentioned  it  again  afterward." 

"Ulrich,  don't  be  so  angry.  Come,  let  me  kiss  you. 
Then  you  will  feel  better." 

She  put  her  arm  about  his,  and  pursed  her  lips.  He 
pushed  her  away  almost  roughly. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  kissed."  The  sudden  transition 
from  his  kingly  manner  to  that  of  a  sulky  child  was  so 
comical  that  it  took  all  of  the  girl's  self-possession  to 
suppress  a  smile. 

"I  don't  like  that    expression,"  he  said  sternly.     "A 


THE    GREATER    JOY  191 

'paid  woman!'  If  you  had  any  notion  of  how  a  man 
treats  such  a  woman,  you  would  never  have  been  so  crude 
as  to  use  the  word." 

Her  cheeks  crimsoned.  She  lived  in  constant  horror 
of  appearing  raw  or  callow  to  him,  with  his  old-world, 
sophisticated,  polished  way  of  regarding  things.  And 
now  he  had  called  her  crude ! 

"Have  I  ever  treated  you  with  discourtesy?  Answer 
me!"  he  thundered. 

"Mercy,  Ulrich,  no!" 

"Have  I  shown  lack  of  delicacy  at  any  time,  forced 
myself  on  you  if  I  perceived  any  sign  of  disinclination  on 
your  part?" 

"No,  Ulrich,  no." 

Her  anger  died  away  suddenly,  as  she  realized  that  in 
questioning  her  he  was  trying  to  vindicate  himself  to 
himself. 

He  was  standing  still  and  mute  now,  peering  with  un- 
seeing eyes  across  to  the  opposite  mountain  range.  They 
were  sitting  in  a  maple  grove,  and  she,  during  his  out- 
burst of  anger,  had  seated  herself  on  the  grass.  Now  on 
her  knees,  she  slid  across  the  grass  to  him.  But  he  would 
not  notice  her.     Softly  she  laid  a  kiss  on  his  cheek. 

"My  beautiful  panther,"  she  murmured.  "My  tem- 
pest, my  thunderstorm,  don't  be  so  angry  with  your  little 
Puritan." 

"My  little  Puritan!" 

Like  a  hurricane  he  suddenly  swept  over  her,  envelop- 
ing her,  crushing  her  in  his  arms. 

"Ulrich,  Ulrich,  you  are  killing  me!" 

He  released  her. 

"I  have  something  to  say  to  you,"  he  murmured. 
"You  had  better  make  up  your  mind  to  remain  with  me." 

In  a  quiet  voice  he  told  her  how  cruelly  he  had  suf- 


192  THE    GREATER    JOY 

fered  the  evening  he  brought  her  home  with  him  while 
Sylvia  lay  ill,  how  he  had  given  battle  royal  to  tempta- 
tion that  night. 

"I  will  not  consent  to  suffer  like  that  again.  You 
understand  what  I  mean.  If  you  will  not  remain  with 
me "  he  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

She  became  frigid. 

"Do  I  construe  that  as  an  intimation  that  you  desire 
to  break  with  me  unless  I  yield  to  your  wishes?" 

"I  cannot  break  with  you  any  more  than  you  can  break 
with  me.     You're  my  fate,  I'm  yours." 

Busily  she  picked  blades  of  grass. 

"Alice,"  he  said  passionately,  "don't  spoil  things.  Stay 
with  me." 

"You  have  certainly  been  frank  with  me,"  she  said  in 
a  cold,  distant  voice. 

"You  cannot  possibly  resent  my  candor." 

"No,  I  do  not  resent  it.  I  suppose  it  is  the  inevitable 
man-nature.  I  suppose  a  woman  can  never  wholly  un- 
derstand a  man,  just  as  a  man  can  never  wholly  com- 
prehend a  woman.  Now  that  aspect  of  our  separation 
would  never  have  occurred  to  me." 

"As  concerning  yourself?" 

She  flushed  angrily. 

"If  it  did  not  occur  to  me  concerning  you,  it  would 
hardly  have  occurred  to  me  concerning  myself,"  she  said. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  had  not  meant  it  in  the  way 
you  took  it.  But  it  would  have  occurred  to  you  after  we 
had  separated,  both  as  to  myself  and  yourself." 

She  said: 

"Possibly." 

Honesty  compelled  her  to  admit  it. 

"You  see,  sweetheart,"  he  went  on,  "what  I  feel  for 
you  is  love,  real  love.     But  love  is  not  love  without  de- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  193 

sire.  You  are  too  passionate  a  woman  yourself  not  to 
realize  what  torment  repressed  passion  can  inflict  on  a 
man.  I  have  much  work  to  do  when  I  get  back  to  Ho- 
hen.  Shortly,  inevitably,  I  shall  be  Regent.  There  are 
many  men  and  many  conditions  I  shall  have  to  fight. 
But  I  am  so  constituted  that  I  shall  make  a  lamentable 
failure  of  things  if  I  have  to  fight  myself  in  addition  to 
fighting  others.  So  you  must  forgive  my  brutality  in 
being  so  candid.     You'll  stay  with  me?" 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  go  on  with  my  studies?"  she 
bargained. 

"Don't  tease  me,  Alice.  It  is  impossible.  Will  you 
stay  with  me?" 

"Well,  yes,  I  will,  on  one  condition.  You  won't  force 
me  to  accept  money  from  you,  will  you  ?" 

After  a  moment's  reflection,  he  said : 

"No." 

"Then  I'll  remain  with  you,"  she  replied. 

He  became  gentle,  suave,  caressing. 

"I  knew  you  would  be  reasonable,  sweetheart."  Fond- 
ling her  hand,  he  added :  "Now  you  may  kiss  your  pan- 
ther, your  tempest,  your  cyclone " 

"Thank  you,  I  don't  want  to." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  lightly,  and  without  looking 
back,  she  ran  away.  He  called  after  her  to  wait,  but  she 
neither  stopped  nor  turned.  She  was  running  down  the 
road  with  amazing  speed.  He  jumped  to  his  feet,  kicked 
furiously  aside  the  blanket  on  which  she  had  been  sitting, 
for  it  had  almost  tripped  him,  and  gave  chase. 

"What  in  all  the  world  is  the  matter  with  you,  Alice?" 
he  asked,  having  caught  up  with  her.  "Do  stop  a  mo- 
ment." 

"I  want  to  be  alone,"  she  said  tearfully. 


194  THE    GREATER    JOY 

She  was  fumbling  for  a  handkerchief,  but  could  not 
find  it.     He  drew  out  his. 

"I  have  a  handkerchief  and  a  shoulder  to  offer  you," 
he  said.     "Will  you  have  either,  or  both?,, 

Without  smiling  at  his  sally,  she  took  his  handkerchief 
and  dried  her  eyes. 

"It  was  better  to  tell  you  the  truth,  wasn't  it?"  he 
asked. 

"I  suppose  so.  Please  don't  let  us  discuss  it.  You 
can't  imagine  how  it  makes  a  woman  feel.  I  care  for 
you  in  so  many  different  ways — I  admire  your  intellect, 
I  take  joy  in  your  work,  I  rejoice  when  I  see  you  referred 
to  and  cited  as  an  authority  in  medical  journals.  But 
your  feeling  for  me  seems  to  be  one  thing,  and  one  thing 
only.     Oh— it  hurts  !" 

"Alice !" 

He  was  genuinely  speechless. 

"And  now,  Ulrich,"  she  went  on,  "if  you  only  as  much 
as  care  to  pretend  that  you  care  for  me  a  tiny,  wee  little 
bit  in  a  decent  sort  of  way,  you  will  drop  the  subject.  I 
am  going  with  you.  I  will  remain  with  you.  You  are 
getting  your  way,  as  usual.  Now  please,  be  cheerful, 
and  let  us  discuss — the  weather." 

She  linked  her  arm  in  his,  and  smiled  bravely  at  him. 

"Take  your  big,  clumsy  handkerchief,"  she  said. 

He  took  it,  and,  arm  in  arm,  they  walked  down  the 
road.     Suddenly  she  said  coaxingly: 

"Panther,  now  you  may  kiss  your  little  Puritan." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

They  sailed  via  the  Mediterranean,  and  as  he  had  word 
on  making  port  that  King  Egon  had  rallied,  they  spent  a 
week  in  Italy.  It  was  an  ideal  week,  and  opened  un- 
dreamed of  vistas  to  Alice.  Much  as  she  knew  of  litera- 
ture, a  knowledge  which  ever  amazed  and  delighted  him 
anew,  she  knew  barely  anything  of  art.  But  her  horror 
of  appearing  unpolished  or  raw  in  his  eyes  made  her  as- 
sume, when  sight-seeing,  what  might  very  well  have 
passed  as  an  ecstatic  silence.  But  she  determined,  once 
she  was  ensconced  in  her  new  home,  to  study  many 
things  beside  German. 

She  was  delighted  with  Venice,  but  she  loved  Florence 
best — Florence,  the  city  of  Dante,  of  Giotto,  of  Lucca 
and  Andrea  della  Robbia,  of  the  Campanile,  sweet  wraith- 
like tower  of  loveliness.  And  unformed  as  her  taste  was, 
and  as  he,  with  his  keen  insight  into  her  character  knew 
it  to  be,  he  was  surprised  at  the  soundness  of  judgment 
which  she  frequently  displayed  in  appraising  a  work  of 
art,  which,  indeed,  she  ventured  to  do  only  when  her  en- 
thusiasm carried  her  away. 

She  was  anxious  to  see  Paris  and  Vienna,  but  he  would 
take  her  to  neither  city.  He  was  so  well  known  in  both 
capitals  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  avoid  rec- 
ognition, and  to  be  seen  in  his  company  for  three  or  four 
days  would  ruin  her  reputation.  She  could  not  help 
wondering  whether  there  was  not  some  more  potent  rea- 
son for  his  desire  to  avoid  the  two  gayest,  wickedest  cap- 
itals in  Europe.     Some  woman? 

195 


196  THE    GREATER    JOY 

They  separated  in  Switzerland,  he  proceeding  alone  to 
Hohenhof-Hohe.  Alice  followed  the  next  day.  Sylvia 
met  her  at  the  station.  At  Ulrich's  request,  Alice  had 
written  the  Princess  from  New  York  that,  after  all,  she 
would  pay  a  visit  to  Hohen.  Whether  the  Princess  sus- 
pected the  true  state  of  affairs  or  not  was  still  an  unsolved 
problem. 

Sylvia  had  had  some  one  procure  the  addresses  of  a 
number  of  reasonable  priced  lodgings,  and  in  the  after- 
noon Alice  went  by  herself  to  find  a  suitable  apartment. 
She  finally  rented  two  rooms  in  a  short,  obscure  little 
street  called  Prinz  Ulrich  Strasse,  which  seemed  a  happy 
omen.  She  had  been  told  at  several  of  the  other  houses 
at  which  she  called  that  no  "gentleman"  visitors  were 
allowed,  and  so  she  inquired,  before  definitely  engaging 
the  two  large  rooms  in  the  Prinz  Ulrich  Strasse,  which 
were  light  and  airy  but  somewhat  expensive,  whether  she 
might  have  a  gentleman  call.  The  Portier  replied  with 
a  grin: 

"Aber  natuerlich.  What  else  are  you  paying  twenty 
marks  for  a  twelve-mark  room  for?" 

Decidedly  that  left  a  bad  taste  in  the  mouth,  and  Alice 
was  almost  tempted  to  cancel  the  bargain.  But  the  house 
was  so  clean  and  neat  and  aristocratic  looking,  and  the 
rooms  so  light  and  airy,  because  of  a  narrow  strip  of 
garden  adjoining  the  house,  that  she  swallowed  her  mor- 
tification and  paid  her  deposit. 

She  asked  Ulrich  whether  the  street  was  named  for 
him,  and  he  said  yes.  It  had  been  broken  through  some 
ten  years  ago  when  he  had  practically  been  heir-apparent 
because  Prince  Joachim,  the  then  heir-apparent,  had  been 
a  consumptive  and  childless.  Egon  had  been  born  the 
next  year,  and  he  had  lapsed  into  relative  insignificance 
until  the  precarious  condition  of  the  old  King's  health 


THE    GREATER    JOY  197 

made  it  evident  that  it  was  merely  a  question  of  time  be- 
fore he,  Ulrich,  would  be  Regent.  Alice  could  not  help 
wishing  that  Prince  Joachim  had  enjoyed  the  best  of 
health  and  had  raised  a  baker's  dozen  of  children.  She 
began  dimly  to  realize  the  political  importance  of  a  small 
child's  life. 

Ulrich  seemed  pleased  that  she  had  taken  rooms  in  the 
Prinz  Ulrich  Strasse.  It  was  a  quiet,  vornehme  street, 
not  in  the  least  spiessbuergerlich,  and  no  one  would  be 
prying  into  their  business.  But  was  she  not  paying  very 
much?  Not  that  he  wished  to  violate  the  promise  he 
made  her  at  the  Hermitage,  but  if  she  ultimately  would 
decide  to  allow  him  to  pay  her  expenses,  she  would  make 
him  the  happiest  of  men.  Meanwhile  he  did  insist  on 
one  thing.  As  she  was  going  to  pay  the  rent,  and  as  he 
was  to  at  least  partially  occupy  the  rooms,  he  claimed  it 
^p  his  privilege  to  be  allowed  to  furnish  them.  She  had 
not  the  heart  to  refuse,  the  more  so  as  it  was  out  of  the 
question  for  her  to  spend  the  money  required  for  hand- 
some rugs  and  furniture,  and  she  felt  that  she  had  no 
right  to  deprive  him  of  the  luxurious  surroundings  to 
which  he  was  accustomed. 

She  was  honest  in  telling  herself  that  as  far  as  she  was 
concerned,  a  painted  floor  would  have  done  as  well  as 
the  finest  Axminster  rug;  a  few  cane  chairs  would  have 
been  as  acceptable  as  the  finest  damask-covered  furni- 
ture, and  a  cot  would  have  yielded  slumber  as  refreshings 
as  the  most  ornately  carved  four-poster.  But  to  imagine 
Ulrich's  sleeping  in  a  cot  under  an  ordinary,  calico- 
quilted  comfort!  The  idea  was  preposterous.  She 
dared  not  expect  it  of  him.  He  must  have  comforts 
quilted  in  silk,  and  sheets  with  hand-embroidered  hems  at 
least  four  inches  deep. 

It  was  decided  that  she  was  to  spend  the  two  or  three 


198  THE    GREATER    JOY 

days  required  to  furnish  the  rooms  with  Sylvia  at  the 
Koenigliches  Palais.  Ulrich's  mansion  was  two  blocks 
away,  and  was  known  as  the  Neues  Palais.  Little  Prince 
Eitel  Egon  lived  with  him  instead  of  with  his  grand- 
father, because  the  old  King  was  so  very  ill,  and  Ulrich 
believed  in  rigid  discipline  for  the  boy.  When  Eitel 
Egon  attained  his  tenth  year,  the  Neues  Palais  would  be- 
come his  establishment,  as  it  was  the  custom  for  the 
Erbprinz,  the  Hereditary  Prince,  to  receive  his  own  es- 
tablishment upon  his  eleventh  birthday.  Sylvia  said  that 
Ulrich  had  been  severely  criticized  by  the  press  for  hav- 
ing Eitel  Egon  with  him  at  his  home,  instead  of  allowing 
him  to  remain  under  the  King's  roof  until  his  tenth  year. 
He  had  thereby  upset  all  traditions  of  the  past.  But  Ul- 
rich, so  Sylvia  said,  persisted  in  saying  the  lad  was  not 
strong  and  needed  constant  medical  supervision,  and  he 
knew  of  no  one  qualified  to  give  the  same  more  conscien- 
tiously than  himself. 

"However,"  concluded  the  Princess  with  a  malicious 
smile,  "dear  Ulrich  does  not  allow  for  the  weeks  and 
sometimes  months  during  which  Eitel  Egon  is  at  the 
Neues  Palais  without  any  medical  supervision  whatever, 
while  Ulrich  is  absent  in  Vienna  or  Paris — conducting 
medical  experiments,  of  course." 

Alice  said  nothing.  It  was  evident  that  Sylvia  did  not 
share  Ulrich's  affection  for  little  Eitel  Egon.  She  was 
anxious  to  see  the  child.  It  hurt  her  somewhat  to  think 
Ulrich  had  spoken  so  sparingly  of  the  little  lad  of  whom, 
according  to  all  accounts,  he  was  so  fond,  and  yet  it 
pleased  her  immensely  to  learn  of  this  new  and  unex- 
pected side  of  his  character.  But  Eitel  Egon  was  ill  with 
croup,  and  could  not  leave  his  bed.  Ulrich  seemed 
greatly  annoyed,  and  said  the  attack  could  have  been 
warded    off    by    any  person    possessing  a  modicum  of 


THE    GREATER    JOY  199 

brains,  and  would  have  been  warded  off  if  Frau  von 
Schwellenberg  had  not  been  confined  to  her  bed.  He 
looked  insinuatingly  at  Sylvia  while  he  spoke,  but  his 
cousin  maintained  an  unmoved  and  placid  countenance. 
Sweetly  she  answered: 

"Dear  Ulrich,  I  believe  all  your  instructions  concerning 
the  child  have  been  followed  to  the  letter." 

"Seeing  the  child  was  not  well,  upon  your  return,  you 
might  have  cabled  me,  I  think."  He  spoke  in  a  censo- 
rious way  which  Alice  had  never  before  seen  him  em- 
ploy. 

Sylvia  swept  her  eyes  insinuatingly  from  the  girl  to 
Ulrich. 

"I  hardly  think  you  would  have  thanked  me  for  set- 
ting your  duty  so  plainly  before  your  eyes,"  she  retorted. 

"At  least  you  might  have  given  Egon  a  little  personal 
attention." 

"What  do  you  take  me  for?  A  nursery  maid?"  she 
retorted. 

"You  know  that  the  nights  in  September  are  likely  to 
be  cold,"  he  continued,  "and  on  hearing  that  the  boiler  in 
the  Neues  Palais  had  burst,  and  that  the  steam  could  not 
be  turned  on,  you  might  have  had  Egon  brought  over 
here.  You  could  easily  have  made  room  for  him.  For 
that  matter,  Frau  von  Schwellenberg,  ill  or  well,  would 
have  let  him  have  her  sitting  room  for  a  few  nights." 

Sylvia  looked  distinctly  annoyed.  Her  charm  and 
sweetness  vanished.  A  cruel,  vixenish,  spiteful  look 
came  into  her  eyes. 

"Dear  Ulrich,"  she  snapped,  "do  you  really  suppose  a 
person  could  be  found  in  the  entire  kingdom  possessing 
the  hardihood  to  disobey  any  of  your  instructions,  much 
less  any  instruction  concerning  Egon?  Everybody 
knows,  my  amiable  cousin,  that  you  are  king  in  all  but 


200  THE    GREATER    JOY 

name,  and  have  been  for  years.  Your  glove  is  velvet, 
dear  Ulrich,  but  your  hand  most  decidedly  is  iron." 

Alice  arose  and  went  to  the  door. 

"Don't  go,  honey/'  said  Sylvia  with  waspish  sweet- 
ness. "Ulrich  and  I,  having  proper  family  feeling,  in- 
dulge in  these  little  quarrels  about  Egon  once  a  week. 
Nobody  minds  us,  and  everybody  listens.  It  makes  such 
delectable  gossip  for  the  Court." 

Alice  stood  at  the  door.  She  felt  horribly  embar- 
rassed, and  did  not  know  whether  to  go  or  stay.  At  this 
moment  Fraeulein  von  Hornung,  the  lady-in-waiting, 
came  into  the  room,  and  Sylvia  began  an  animated  con- 
versation with  her.  Ulrich,  gloomy  and  stormy-looking, 
passed  through  the  door  at  which  Alice  had  halted.  She 
stepped  out  after  him.  He  was  waiting  for  her  in  the 
little  rose-colored  salon  in  which  the  Princess  gave  her 
afternoon  teas.     She  went  straight  to  him. 

"I  am  sorry  your  little  cousin  is  so  ill,"  she  said.  "Can 
I  not  come  and  take  care  of  him  ?" 

"You  sweet  thing!"  he  said  in  low,  affectionate  tones. 

"Please  let  me  come,  Ulrich.  I  should  love  nothing 
better.  It  always  made  me  happy  to  take  care  of  a 
child." 

Her  voice  quavered  ever  so  lightly. 

"No — thank  you,  my  sweet  little  Puritan,"  he  mur- 
mured. "I  have  a  very  competent  nurse  now,  and  Egon 
is  much  better.  But  Sylvia's  heartlessness  exasperates 
me. 

"Isn't  it  assumed  rather  than  real?" 

"Not  in  Egon's  case.  She  dislikes  the  child  intensely. 
She  treated  him  abominably  when  he  lived  here.  That's 
why  I  have  him  with  me  now."  Ulrich  paused,  and 
after  a  moment's  hesitation,  continued:  "One  evening 
when  Egon  was  about  five  years  old,  a  prestidigitator  had 


THE    GREATER    JOY  201 

been  engaged  for  an  evening's  entertainment  in  the  big 
hall  downstairs.  The  entire  Court  assembled  to  see  the 
magician's  tricks  and  the  servants  were  permitted  to 
stand  in  the  rear  of  the  hall  and  look  on.  Egon's  maid 
and  governess  asked  permission  to  be  present.  Sylvia 
gave  it.  Grandfather  was  too  ill  to  have  any  voice  in  the 
matter.  Egon,  who  was  still  awake,  begged  to  have 
some  one  stay  with  him.  Remember  he  was  not  yet  five, 
and  the  day  happened  to  be  the  anniversary  of  his 
mother's  death.  Then  my  cousin — I  like  to  think  it  was 
just  thoughtlessness  and  not  deliberate  cruelty — told  the 
child  that  the  man  downstairs  was  a  magician  and  could 
summon  the  spirits  of  the  departed,  and  that  he  must  be 
a  good  little  boy,  or  he  would  be  punished.  Then  these 
three  excellent  women,  having  extinguished  the  light, 
left  Egon  alone  and  went  downstairs.  Ten  minutes  later 
I  came  into  the  hall.  I  heard  a  whimpering.  Running 
upstairs,  I  went  to  Egon's  room,  and  heard  the  miserable 
story.  Egon  by  that  time  was  feverish  with  terror. 
I  lighted  the  gas,  dressed  him,  and  took  him  away  with 
me.  Since  that  day  he  has  lived  with  me.  No  one  had 
seen  me  enter  that  night  excepting  two  lackeys  at  the 
door.  I  threatened  to  inflict  all  sorts  of  punishment  on 
them  if  they  dared  tell  that  they  had  seen  me  take  Egon 
away.  Can  you  imagine  the  pleasant  time  Sylvia  had  on 
finding  Egon's  bed  empty?  She  was  in  a  frenzy,  they 
say.  The  entire  palace  was  aroused,  excepting  grand- 
father. They  searched  everywhere.  Sylvia  herself,  in 
a  pale  pink  ball  gown,  crawled  through  a  gooseberry 
bush  because  some  one  remembered  there  was  a  deep  pit 
back  of  it.  At  three  in  the  morning,  Sylvia  had  me 
called.  She  was  in  hysterics  by  that  time.  Only  then 
did  I  tell  her  that  Egon  was  safe  and  sound  in  my  home. 
She  would  not  speak  to  me  for  a  week." 


202  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"I  do  not  wonder.     It  was  a  cruel  thing  to  do." 

"Cruel  of  me,  or  of  them  ?" 

"Of  you.    As  to  them,  it  was  shocking,  ghastly !" 

Her  face  expressed  her  abhorrence. 

"Alice,  I  have  treated  you  badly  in  not  marrying  you. 
Whenever  you  feel  inclined  to  blame  me,  will  you  re- 
member in  partial  extenuation  of  my  conduct  that  if  I 
had  married  you,  I  would  have  been  unable  to  do  any- 
thing at  all  for  Egon  ?  I  would  have  been  forced  to  stand 
by  idly,  after  grandfather's  death,  and  heaven  only  knows 
what  would  have  happened.  Sylvia  is  wholly  unscrupu- 
lous where  her  ambition  is  concerned." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Alice,  wholly  bewildered. 

"If  we  had  married,  you  and  I,"  said  Ulrich,  "I  should 
have  been  out  of  the  race  for  the  succession.  Sylvia,  be- 
ing a  woman,  is  barred  by  the  Salic  law.  Gunther,  my 
grandfather's  youngest  brother's  son,  would  have  been 
heir-apparent,  or,  in  case  of  Egon's  death,  would  have 
inherited  the  crown — the  life  of  a  child  is  easily 
snapped." 

"Ulrich,  what  do  you  mean?  That  is  a  horrible  accu- 
sation !" 

"Privation,  unkindness,  lack  of  care,  have  killed  many 
a  child." 

"But  a  child  that  is  a  king!" 

"My  sweet  little  Puritan,  how  little  you  know  of  the 
world!  Add  to  this  the  further  fact  that  Sylvia  loves 
our  cousin  Gunther,  and  has  refused  to  marry  him  again 
and  again  only  because  she  will  not  marry  any  one  who 
is  not  a  sovereign  prince  or  an  heir-apparent,  and  you 
can  make  a  pretty  fair  guess  as  to  the  chance  little  Egon 
would  have  of  reaching  manhood  if  I  were  out  of  the 
way." 

"But " 


THE    GREATER    JOY  203 

She  began  and  stopped  abruptly.  She  felt  a  certain 
delicacy,  a  certain  reticence  in  discussing  his  relatives 
that  amazed  and  delighted  him  whenever  they  were  on 
the  topic. 

"What,  dear?"  he  asked. 

"I  thought  Sylvia  seemed  so  kind,  so  straightforward. 
And  you  seemed  fond  of  her." 

"I  am  fond  of  her,  in  a  way.  She  is  a  very  pretty  and 
a  very  clever  woman,  and  can  make  herself  extremely 
useful.  We  were  children  together,  romped,  played, 
quarrelled,  made  up  and  kissed.  As  to  trusting  her — the 
best  you  can  do  in  that  regard,  dearest,  is  to  appear  to 
trust  her  always  and  never  to  do  so.  And  as  to  that  old 
fox  who  is  at  her  heels  continually,  our  superlative 
Master  of  Ceremonies,  the  Hofmarschall,  beware  of  him ! 
You  have  not  yet  met  him,  as  these  days  he  is  in  con- 
stant attendance  on  grandfather,  to  whom,  I  admit,  he  is 
genuinely  devoted.  Trust  a  rattlesnake  sooner  than 
him." 

Alice  contemplated  her  lover  gravely. 

"How  very  odd  all  this  seems,"  she  said.  "And  why 
didn't  you  tell  me  about  Egon  before?  It  would  have 
made  things  so  much  easier  for  me." 

"I  didn't  know  you  then  to  be  the  soul  of  generosity 
and  honor,  my  sweet  Alice.  The  average  woman  would 
have  been  keenly  jealous  of  the  boy.  It  would  have 
annoyed  her  to  think  that  love  for  another  per- 
son, though  a  child,  could  act  as  a  deterrent  from 
marriage." 

The  girl  bowed  her  head  so  that  Ulrich  could  not  see 
her  eyes.  She  would  not  tell  him  that  she  had  felt  a 
momentary  pang  of  which  he  described  her  as  being  in- 
capable. Following  a  sudden  impulse,  she  flung  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  and  kissed  him  on  the  lips. 


204,  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"My  dear  girl,  be  careful/'  he  warned  her;  "we  shall 
be  seen." 

But  she  had  already  kissed  him  thrice. 

She  stood  in  the  deep  embrasure  of  the  window  and 
watched  him  walk  down  the  street.  Bitter-sweet  min- 
gled in  her  feelings  for  him.  Sweet  it  was  assuredly  to 
know  he  had  this  tenderness  in  his  heart  for  a  little  child, 
and  it  was  indescribably  bitter  to  think  that  she  would 
not  be  able  to  bear  him  a  child.  A  terrible  spasm  of  al- 
most physical  agony  passed  through  her  at  the  thought. 
The  maternal  instinct  was  strong  in  her,  but  it  had  been 
latent  until  now.  She  was  overwhelmed  with  harassing 
doubt  as  to  her  ability  to  hold  his  love.  In  spite  of  the 
deep  well  of  tenderness  in  his  nature,  which  seemed  a 
secure  guarantee  that  he  would  never  cast  off  a  woman 
who  really  loved  him,  she  knew  very  well  that  the  ele- 
mental passion — sex-love — was  his  most  salient  trait. 

It  was  curious,  she  thought,  that  she  was  unable  to 
conquer  the  sense  of  sin  and  shame  that  came  to  her 
again  and  again.  No  wife,  surely,  had  ever  loved  her 
husband  more  deeply  and  more  truly  than  she  loved  Ul- 
rich.  The  joy  she  took  in  his  embrace  was  often  as  far 
removed  from  sensual  pleasure  as  is  the  sky  from  the 
earth. 

Yet  what  if  his  love  for  her  were  to  become  less  tem- 
pestuous, as  in  time  it  undoubtedly  would?  Or  if  he 
were  to  meet  another  woman  who  would  arouse  in  him 
the  same  feelings?  What  then?  What  would  be  the 
result?  Would  the  spiritual  ties  which  bound  him  to 
her,  or  the  newly  conceived  sensual  passion  for  the  hypo- 
thetical woman,  be  the  stronger? 

The  King's  eyes  were  troubling  him  greatly  these  days 
and  he  would  see  no  one.  Ulrich  sat  with  him  for  hours, 
and  the  Hofmarschall  never  left  his  royal  master's  rooms. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  205 

The  absence  of  the  latter  from  the  parlors  and  dining 
room,  Fraulein  von  Hornung,  who  had  a  sharp  tongue, 
as  well  as  a  sense  of  humor,  described  as  a  "merciful  re- 
moval by  the  will  of  God." 

Alice's  five  days  with  Sylvia  passed  off  pleasantly 
enough.  After  breakfast,  Fraulein  von  Hornung,  the 
plump,  rosy  little  lady-in-waiting,  and  Freiherrin  von  El- 
brecht,  Sylvia's  secretary,  accompanied  their  mistress 
to  the  little  chintz-draped  morning  room  in  Sylvia's 
suite,  where  they  sewed  and  embroidered  and  attended 
to  their  correspondence,  and  strummed  on  the  piano.  At 
half  past  ten  several  of  the  Aides  usually  put  in  appear- 
ance, and  Ulrich  looked  in  at  about  eleven,  unless  he  was 
busy  at  the  Clinic,  which  happened  two  mornings  out  of 
the  five. 

Of  the  Aides,  Lieutenant  von  Garde  was  the  most  pop- 
ular with  the  young  women.  He  was  dazzlingly  fair,  his 
complexion  was  as  pink  and  white  as  a  sea-shell's,  and 
his  manner  was  charming.  Also  he  blushed  as  vividly 
and  frequently  as  any  girl.  Alice  liked  him  immensely 
and  said  she  considered  him  one  of  the  handsomest  men 
she  had  ever  seen. 

"Surely  not  handsomer  than  Prince  Ulrich,"  cried 
little  Fraulein  von  Hornung  indignantly.  "Now,  I  dote 
on  Prince  Ulrich.  Ich  bin  hoffnungslos  in  den  Prinzen 
verliebt." 

"Is  he  in  love  with  you,  also  ?"  asked  Alice  a  little  un- 
steadily. 

"Unfortunately  not."  The  plump  little  lady-in-waiting 
laughed  gleefully.  "But,  truthfully,  now,  Miss  Vaughn, 
which  of  the  two  men  is  the  more  handsome?  It's  a 
perennial  subject  with  us,  so  you  need  feel  no  delicacy 
in  speakinsr  your  mind  freely." 

Alice  began  gingerly : 


206  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Of  course,  Prince  Ulrich  is  very  handsome,  very  dis- 
tinguished and  aristocratic-looking — vornehm,  I  believe 
you  folks  call  it ;  but  Herr  Lieutenant  von  Garde  is,  well 
— he's — I  don't  know  just  how  to  put  it — he  looks  as  if 
the  sun  had  crusted  him  all  over  with  impalpable  gold." 

"Oh,  dear,  what  a  disappointment !  She's  in  love  with 
him  already!"  wailed  Freiherrin  von  Elbrecht,  while 
Sylvia  looked  vastly  entertained. 

"Nonsense!"  exclaimed  Alice,  blushing  furiously  with 
annoyance. 

A  pretty  predicament  she  would  be  in  if  her  remark 
were  to  be  repeated  to  Ulrich.  She  suspected  him  of  be- 
ing capable  of  Othello-like  jealousy. 

"It  certainly  shatters  our  hopes,"  said  Fraulein  von 
Hornung.  "We  had  all  made  up  our  minds  you  would 
dote  on  Prince  Ulrich.  You're  so  fair,  you  know,  and 
the  von  Dettes " 

"Always  love  fair  women,"  Alice  put  in  quickly. 

Everybody  laughed. 

"Excepting  one,"  said  Frau  von  Schwellenberg  slyly, 
and  Fraulein  von  Hornung  said  quite  composedly,  al- 
though Sylvia  sat  right  beside  her: 

"Prince  Gunther." 

Sylvia  ignored  all  this  bantering  completely.  She 
smiled  amusedly,  a  little  indulgently,  perhaps.  That  was 
all.  Alice  was  immensely  entertained.  This  free  and 
easy  atmosphere  was  very  delightful  and  she  understood 
that  it  was  very  different  from  the  manner  in  which  they 
all  were  forced  to  conduct  themselves  when  the  Hoftnar- 
schall  was  about. 

Von  Garde  came  in  unannounced.  He  was  in  undress 
uniform,  which  became  him  almost  as  well  as  his  full 
dress  regalia. 

"Good  morning,  ladies,"  he  cried  gaily,  bowing  pro- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  207 

foundly  in  Sylvia's  direction.  "I  have  brought  a  posy 
for  each  of  you." 

"As  an  excuse  for  bringing  one  to  whom?"  chirped 
Freiherrin  von  Elbrecht. 

"Guess/'  said  von  Garde. 

"We  wouldn't  be  so  unkind  as  to  expose  your  heart/' 
retorted  Sylvia. 

Von  Garde  came  and  sat  down  on  a  sofa  beside  Alice. 

"How  is  Miss  Vaughn  to-day?"  he  inquired  suavely. 

"Herr  Adjutant!"  cried  Sylvia  in  an  imperious  voice. 

The  young  man  was  on  his  feet  in  less  than  a  second, 
and  saluted  in  military  fashion.  He  first  clicked  his 
heels  together,  then  threw  his  body  forward  until  it  was 
almost  at  right  angles  with  his  legs,  swung  it  back 
again,  and  thrusting  out  his  left  arm  to  its  full  length, 
with  an  angular  gesture  and  a  stiffening  of  the  elbow 
touched  his  forehead  lightly  with  his  right  hand. 

"Zu  Befehl,  Hoheit!"  he  said. 

Quoth  Hoheit  softly: 

"I  should  like  a  curl  of  your  hair." 

"I  am  overwhelmed." 

He  rampaged  about  for  a  scissors,  and  came  back  with 
an  enormous  pair  of  shears  which  he  gravely  handed 
to  Sylvia. 

"Good  heavens,  Herr  Adjutant!  I  don't  intend  fleec- 
ing a  sheep." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  producing  a  pair  of  tiny 
scissors  intended  for  nipping  the  ends  of  cigars. 

Sylvia  gravely  clipped  a  curl. 

"It  is  really  very  pretty,"  she  said.  "Now,  Fraulein 
von  Hornung,  a  lock  of  yours,  if  you  please." 

Fraulein  von  Hornung  did  not  move. 

"What  mischief  are  you  up  to  now,  Princess?"  she 
demanded. 


208  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Oh,  come  on,"  said  Sylvia,  "don't  be  a  marplot." 

Having  secured  a  curl  of  Fraulein  von  Hornung's 
hair,  Sylvia  very  seriously  presented  them  to  Ulrich  when 
he  entered  a  few  moments  later,  on  a  silver  card  tray, 
saying : 

"Ulrich,  you  have  a  good  eye  for  the  shades  of  a 
woman's  hair.  Which  is  Miss  Vaughn's,  which  Frau- 
lein von  Hornung's?" 

Ulrich  regarded  the  two  curls  of  hair  with  a  negligent 
air,  and  poked  at  them  with  a  small  finger : 

"Dear  Sylvia,"  he  said,  "the  next  time  you  clip  hair 
from  a  man's  head,  I  suggest  you  clip  it  from  the 
top.  Even  von  Garde's  is  a  bit  coarse  around  the 
ears." 

Then  he  threw  the  hair  into  the  fire. 

"Prince  Ulrich,"  cried  Fraulein  von  Hornung  re- 
proachfully, "what  have  you  done?  The  other  curl  was 
mine." 

"I  am  heart-broken,"  Ulrich  smiled  engagingly. 

"You  look  it,  certainly."  Fraulein  von  Hornung 
laughed,  and  made  room  for  him  beside  her.  He  fell  to 
admiring  her  fancy-work. 

"Herr  Adjutant"  said  Sylvia  to  von  Garde,  "do  ring 
the  bell,  and  find  out  whether  the  automobile  is  ready. 
Miss  Vaughn  is  anxious  to  do  some  sight-seeing  this 
morning.  The  automobile  broke  down  yesterday,  and  I 
do  not  know  whether  it  can  be  used,  or  whether  Miss 
Vaughn  will  have  to  go  in  the  touring  car." 

The  automobile,  it  appeared,  was  all  right,  and  Sylvia 
said  sweetly: 

"My  dear,  I  am  sure  you  will  pardon  me  for  not  going 
with  you  ?  There  are  a  number  of  letters  I  want  to  get 
through  with  this  morning  with  Fraulein  von  Hornung 
and  Freiherrin  von  Elbrecht." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  209 

"Dear  me,"  said  Alice,  "it  will  be  rather  stupid  doing 
the  town  alone." 

Von  Garde  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"May  I  offer  myself  as  your  escort  ?"  he  said.  "I  have 
two  hours  at  my  disposal  this  morning  before  Prince 
Ulrich  requires  me.     I  hope  you  will  not  decline." 

Alice  assured  him  she  was  delighted.  Inwardly  she 
was  raging.  What  on  earth  made  Sylvia  play  her  a  trick 
like  that?  She  had  not  seen  Ulrich  that  morning,  and 
she  had  barely  spoken  to  him  the  evening  before,  and 
now,  for  politeness'  sake,  she  would  have  to  go  touring 
around  Hohen  at  the  side  of  another  man. 

She  found  von  Garde's  companionship  very  delightful, 
however,  and  she  enjoyed  her  morning  thoroughly.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  the  hours  spent  at  the  side  of  this 
handsome,  dashing  young  officer,  brought  her  a  purer  at- 
mosphere than  she  had  lived  in  for  many  a  day.  Once, 
when  he  lapsed  into  silence,  she  wondered  what  he 
would  do  if  he  learned  of  her  relations  with  Ulrich. 
She  was  afraid  that  von  Garde  was  becoming  interested 
in  her.     A  miserable  feeling  assailed  her. 

"My  life  is  a  tissue  of  lies,"  she  thought,  and  she  hated 
herself. 

She  felt  deeply  humiliated.  She  longed  to  confess  to 
some  one.  She  became  frightened.  It  was  madness  to 
think  of  avowing  to  anyone  that  Ulrich  was  her  lover. 
Also  it  was  absurd  to  believe  that  this  brilliant  and 
wealthy  young  man  at  her  side,  who  had  awakened  in 
her  this  sense  of  degradation,  was  in  any  sense  a  Joseph. 
Hating  herself  for  throwing  this  aspersion  on  him,  she 
returned  home  to  the  Palais  feeling  wretchedly  unhappy. 

The  clouds  lifted  the  next  day  when  she  went  home  to 
her  own  rooms.  Ulrich  met  her  at  the  street  corner. 
He  wanted  to  be  with  her  when  she  entered  her  small 


210  THE    GREATER    JOY 

apartment.  When  Ulrich  unlocked  the  door  and  pushed 
it  open,  Alice  uttered  an  ejaculation  of  surprise  and  de- 
light. 

The  walls  of  the  sitting  room  were  covered  with  rose- 
colored  brocaded  hangings,  the  floors  were  inlaid  with 
parquetry,  and  the  most  beautiful  Persian  rugs  Alice  had 
ever  seen  covered  the  floor.  The  gilt  furniture  was  up- 
holstered in  old  rose  and  tapestry;  ormulu  clocks  and 
ornaments  stood  upon  the  mantel,  and  a  huge  brass  can- 
delabra stood  upon  a  console  of  inlaid  satinwood.  The 
furniture  of  the  bedroom,  hung  in  pale  blue,  was  Circas- 
sian walnut,  and  the  bedspread  was  Italian  filet  over 
pale  blue  satin.  Plate  glass  windows  replaced  the  old- 
fashioned  four-panelled  windows. 

"Oh,  Ulrich,  how  lovely,  how  charming!  How  could 
you  do  it  so  quickly?  It  is  like  Haroun  al  Raschid — do 
you  remember,  when  he  had  an  entire  house  refurnished 
in  one  night  ?    Thank  you  so  much !" 

"Don't  I  get  as  much  as  a  kiss  for  my  pains  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course."  She  came  to  him  like  an  obedi- 
ent child.  But  as  she  kissed  him  she  thought  of  the 
morning  of  the  day  before  spent  with  von  Garde. 

"May  I  come  to-night?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  Ulrich." 

"At  eight?" 

"Yes,  Ulrich." 

"I  have  a  lecture  at  three,  and  at  five  I  must  see  von 
Hermhelm  about  the  financing  of  an  orphan  asylum  and 
some  new  public  schools.  I  will  be  here  at  eight.  Will 
we  run  over  to  Hohenhof-Lohe,  and  dine  out,  or  shall 
we  dine  here  ?  You  can  order  a  supper  from  a  caterer's, 
you  know." 

"Just  as  you  wish,  dear." 

"Alice,  I  haven't  had  an    uninterrupted  kiss  for  five 


THE    GREATER    JOY  311 

days,  and  you  pretend  not  to  know  what  I  would  prefer 
— a  formal,  conventional  tete-a-tete  in  a  public  dining 
room,  or  an  uninterrupted,  delightful,  intimate  little  sup- 
per here." 

His  eyes  were  afire;  the  love-light  in  them  thawed 
her,  melted  away  the  aloof,  detached  manner  which  she 
had  been  forced  to  cultivate  during  the  past  three  days, 
and  which  unconsciously  she  had  retained.  She  laughed, 
and  wound  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"We'll  sup  right  here." 

"Very  well." 

He  kissed  her  quickly,  perfunctorily,  almost,  she 
thought.     At  the  door  he  said : 

"You're  sure  you're  satisfied  with  the  arrangement? 
you  wouldn't  prefer  automobiling  over  to  Hohenhof- 
Lohe  and  a  late  supper  at  some  cafe  where  there's  good 
music  ?" 

"No,  stupid,  no." 

She  went  to  him,  and  kissed  him  on  the  mouth. 

"Don't  kiss  me  again,  Alice,  I  implore  you  I  I  have  a 
lecture  at  three — I  must  keep  my  wits  about  me — don't, 
dear,  don't— !" 

Laughing,  he  disengaged  himself  from  her  arms  and 
fled  through  the  open  door. 


CHAPTER  XV 

All  morning  the  rain  had  beaten  down,  flagellating 
the  pavement  and  flaying  the  bare  earth  in  the  narrow 
strip  of  garden  upon  which  Alice's  window  opened,  un- 
til it  yawned  and  gaped  like  the  raw  edges  of  a  flesh 
wound. 

All  morning  also  she  had  worked  over  her  German. 
Fraulein  Metzer  had  severely  censured  her  slovenly  de- 
clensions the  day  before,  and  assailed  by  an  undefinable 
shame  at  her  inability  to  concentrate  her  attention  upon 
matters  purely  intellectual,  an  inability  that  was  becom- 
ing habitual  with  her,  Alice  had  determined. to  discipline 
herself  relentlessly  during  the  entire  morning. 

At  first  her  attention  had  strayed  continuously,  but  she 
had  persevered,  and  when  the  clock  struck  twelve,  she 
was  both  surprised  and  gratified  to  find  how  many  exer- 
cises she  had  translated,  how  many  nouns  she  had  de- 
clined, how  many  absurd  verbs  she  had  conjugated. 

"I  deserve  a  holiday  this  afternoon/'  she  cried  gaily — 
cried  it  out  aloud  for  no  other  reason  than  to  break  the 
silence  of  her  rooms.  Then  she  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out 

Neither  rain  nor  wind  had  abated  one  jot ;  they  seemed, 
if  anything,  to  gain  violence  as  she  stood  looking  out 
upon  the  tumult  of  water  swirling  about  like  a  whirlpool 
in  the  flower-beds. 

"How  shall  I  relax  after  my  labors  of  the  morning?" 
she  asked  herself,  and  smiled  in  mute  enjoyment  of  the 
conceit     "By  thinking  of  Ulrich,  of  course,"  she  whis- 

212 


THE    GREATER    JOY  213 

pered,  and  pressed  her  forehead,  hot  and  burning  from 
the  morning's  work,  against  the  cold  window-pane.  She 
remembered  Marie  BashkirtsefFs  words,  and  agreed  with 
her  that  in  a  solitude  where  environment  and  luxury 
make  for  happy  thoughts,  a  woman  barely  desires  even 
the  society  of  the  man  she  loves. 

She  opened  the  window  and  poured  out  a  glass  of  but- 
termilk. Her  cash  capital  was  rapidly  diminishing,  and 
another  six  weeks  would  elapse  before  she  could  expect 
her  next  remittance  from  her  banker  at  home.  Ulrich 
had  expressed  his  desire  that  she  should  appear  at  the 
first  Court  Ball  of  the  season.  The  gown  would  cost  her, 
she  knew  not  what,  and  in  her  anxiety  about  her  mone- 
tary affairs,  she  had  adopted  a  buttermilk  diet,  limiting' 
herself  to  a  quart  of  buttermilk  and  three  unbuttered  rolls 
a  day.  She  was  not  very  fond  of  buttermilk,  and  many 
a  day  she  would  have  preferred  eating  and  drinking 
nothing  to  eating  the  dry  rolls  and  drinking  the  acid  milk. 
It  was  merely  for  fear  that  she  might  lose  her  color  or 
flesh  that  she  scrupulously  partook  of  the  unappetizing 
liquid  at  meal  times.  For  if  she  were  to  grow  pale  and 
thin,  and  Ulrich,  by  any  chance,  were  to  discover  the 
truth — she  shivered.  She  had  seen  Ulrich  angry  once  or 
twice,  and  it  was  a  spectacle  she  had  no  desire  to  see  re- 
peated with  herself  as  the  object. 

So  she  drank  and  ate  her  meagre  rations,  and  rinsed 
the  glass  and  washed  her  hands.  Suddenly  a  great 
feeling  of  unrest  came  upon  her.  She  looked  hungrily 
out  into  the  rain.  She  would  have  loved  a  long,  long 
tramp  over  a  rough  country  road,  such  a  road  as  is  found 
in  the  Adirondacks,  or  the  Shawungunk  Ridge,  or  the 
Blue  Mountains  of  Pennsylvania.  For  a  few  moments 
she  battled  with  the  temptation  that  beset  her  to  don  hat 
and  coat  and  venture  out. 


214  THE    GREATER    JOY 

Common-sense  triumphed.  Improperly  nourished  for 
over  a  month,  she  knew  she  was  in  no  condition  to  battle 
with  the  storm  that  raged  without.  But  the  desire  for 
the  keen  tang  of  the  cold,  wet  air  was  upon  her,  and  to 
effectually  dispose  of  the  matter,  she  took  off  her  dress, 
and  got  into  a  dressing  gown. 

She  hesitated  over  her  various  dressing  gowns.  Ul- 
rich  had  pronounced  the  blue  Liberty  satin  edged  with 
white  lace  and  panne  velvet  delicious,  the  pink  taffeta 
with  flowers  appliqued  in  pink  satin,  chic,  and  the  white 
Japanese  silk  kimono,  with  butterflies  brocaded  in  white 
and  silver,  and  wistarias  appliqued  in  pink  and  gold, 
he  had  termed  fairy-like,  "almost  worthy  to  cover 
the  shoulders  of  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the 
world." 

Was  she  really  so  very  beautiful?  Had  she  lost  none 
of  her  beauty  during  the  fast  of  the  last  .month  ?  She 
pulled  down  the  white  kimono  and  got  into  it.  The 
sleeves  were  very  wide,  and  the  least  gesture  revealed 
her  soft,  well-rounded  arms.  Ulrich  had  praised  it  for 
this  feature.  She  remembered  how  he  had  kissed  her 
inner  arm,  in  the  little  soft  hollow  formed  by  the  crooked 
elbow,  the  last  time  she  had  worn  it.  Suddenly,  barely 
knowing  what  she  was  doing,  quite  spontaneously,  she 
lifted  her  arm  and  kissed  it  quickly  in  the  same  place 
where  his  lips  had  lingered  in  voluptuous  enjoy- 
ment. 

She  seated  herself  before  the  mirror  and  regarded  her- 
self critically.  The  most  censorious  of  judges  could 
have  taken  no  exception  to  the  exquisite  bloom  upon  her 
cheek,  the  humid  eyes,  the  coral-tipped  lips,  the  soft 
swell  of  the  bosom. 

Nodding  at  the  image  in  the  glass,  she  said  sooth- 
ingly: 


THE    GREATER    JOY  215 

"You're  just  as  beautiful  as  ever  you  were,  dear." 

Then  suddenly  a  wave  of  weariness  and  disgust  passed 
over  her.  What  an  existence !  Would  it  always  be  like 
this?  Would  she  always  tremble  the  moment  she  was 
not  in  immediate  proximity  to  him,  for  fear  that  she 
might  lose  her  beauty,  and  by  losing  that,  lose  him  ?  Was 
she  not  lowering  herself,  and  abasing  herself  by  perpetu- 
ally entertaining  this  almost  morbid  desire  to  be  physic- 
ally pleasing  to  the  man  she  loved  ?  How  long  would  he 
love  her?  She  him?  Did  she  really  love  him  or  was 
she  merely  in  love  with  him  ?  That  was  a  burning  ques- 
tion that  had  presented  itself  to  her  again  and  again  in 
her  hours  of  solitude,  and  strange  to  say,  it  was  of  more 
telling  importance  to  her  than  whether  his  sentiments 
for  her  were  based  upon  mere  physical  infatuation  or 
were  of  the  deeper,  abiding  kind.  She  felt  she  would 
hate  very  much  less  to  have  him  desire  to  break  with  her 
than  to  desire  to  break  with  him.  And  yet  she  was  not 
certain  of  this,  either.  So  far  she  had  not  been  jealous 
of  him.     There  had  been  no  occasion. 

Suddenly  she  thought  of  von  Garde.  She  was  certain 
that  where  he  once  gave  his  love,  his  love  would  remain. 
She  did  not  know  what  particular  thing  had  given  her 
such  a  high  notion  of  this  young  officer.  But  she  felt 
instinctively  that  he  was  a  man  a  woman  could  trust — 
trust  to  the  uttermost.  She  almost  envied  the  woman 
whom  he  would  love  and  marry.  No  heart-burnings  for 
her  such  as  she  was  hourly  passing  through.  Where  Ul- 
rich  was  compelling,  commanding,  almost  insolently  dom- 
inant, von  Garde  was  ingratiating,  winning,  engaging. 
Again  she  envied  the  woman  whom  he  would  love.  Sud- 
denly it  occurred  to  her  that  she  might  be  that  woman. 
"I  hope  not,  I  hope  not,"  she  murmured. 

The  mood  passed.     She  forgot  about  von  Garde.    She 


216  THE    GREATER    JOY 

,now  thought  of  Ulrich  only.  She  sat  at  the  window  in 
her  white  kimono,  but  she  no  longer  saw  the  rain. 

It  was  ridiculous  to  wear  that  exquisite  white  kimono 
on  a  rainy  afternoon.  She  had  been  riotously  extrava- 
gant when  she  had  bought  it.  She  had  paid  over  three 
hundred  dollars  for  it,  and  it  had  been  her  bridal  kimono ; 
and  that  association,  and  also  because  Ulrich  had  kissed 
the  little  hollow  in  her  arm  when  she  last  wore  it,  made 
her  happy  in  feeling  its  touch  upon  her  skin.  The  mem- 
ory of  that  kiss  was  so  poignantly  recent.  It  seemed  to 
her,  because  of  this,  that  she  achieved  almost  a  physical 
nearness  to  him.  So  she  sat  down  in  it  and  began  em- 
broidering on  a  white  centrepiece.  It  would  probably 
last  as  long  as  her  small  bank  account — and  after  that — 
again  she  shivered.  "Apres  moi  le  deluge,"  she  mur- 
mured. It  was  an  expression  she  had  picked  up  from 
Ulrich,  like  many  others. 

Ulrich  loved  to  see  her  embroider.  He  said  it  made 
him  think  of  beautiful,  frail  Mary  Stuart,  who  had  been 
so  fond  of  the  tapestry  frame,  because  in  embroidering, 
her  long,  slender,  tapering  fingers  showed  to  advantage. 
[And  then  he  had  minutely  examined  Alice's  fingers,  and 
pronounced  them  quite  perfect.  "Very  aristocratic,  and 
denoting  a  keen  love  of  the  artistic."  And  he  had  kissed 
each  finger  separately.  And  when  he  had  finished  kiss- 
ing them,  he  had  kissed  her  under  the  chin.  He  had 
spoken  of  the  lovers  of  Mary  Stuart,  and  how  the  insou- 
ciant enchantress,  by  the  movements  of  those  beautiful, 
waxen,  delicate  fingers  while  plying  the  embroidery,  had, 
perhaps,  first  tangled  the  hearts  of  wicked  Darnley,  and 
gallant  Chastelard,  and  unhappy  Rizzio.  Then  he  had 
asked  her  whether  she  was  fond  of  embroidering  for  the 
same  reason — to  tangle  men's  hearts — and  she  had  an- 
swered that  she  desired  only  to  hold  the  one  heart  that 


THE    GREATER    JOY  217 

had  already  become  entangled  with  hers,  because  she 
feared  that  untangling  them  would  break  the  weaker  ves- 
sel— her  own. 

Filled  with  these  acute  and  intimate  memories,  she 
stitched  on,  not  heeding  how  time  went.  How  curious 
it  was  that  one  individual  should  so  completely  change 
the  current  of  another  life !  Six  months  ago  she  had  not 
known  of  his  existence.  Now  it  seemed  almost  incred- 
ible that  there  should  have  been  a  time  when  he  was  not 
an  integral  part  of  her  daily  life,  that  there  had  been  a 
time  when  she  had  been  fancy  free,  had  possessed  her 
own  body  and  her  own  soul.  Now  her  entire  little  uni- 
verse revolved  about  him.  Everything  that  did  not  con- 
cern him  either  directly  in  the  past  or  present  seemed  dim 
and  unreal.  The  familiar  friends  of  her  childhood  and 
youth — all  her  early  associations — seemed  intangible  and 
incredibly  remote,  like  a  landscape  seen  from  a  rapidly 
moving  train  through  a  curtain  of  driving  snow. 

His  dominion  over  her  was  the  more  remarkable  when 
she  reflected  how  little  of  their  time,  on  the  whole,  they 
could  spend  together.  During  the  last  week  he  had  been 
with  her  only  twice,  four  nights  ago  and  the  night  before. 
This  morning,  after  leaving  her,  he  was  to  motor  over 
to  Hohenhof-Lohe.  His  cousin,  the  reigning  Duke,  was 
very  ill,  and  desired  his  medical  opinion.  Ulrich  in- 
tended returning  by  train  in  the  afternoon,  and  as  he  ex- 
pected to  be  extremely  busy  on  sOme  matters  the  King 
wished  him  to  attend  to  for  him  during  the  next  two 
days,  he  would  probably  not  be  able  to  see  her  for  three 
or  four  days.  Three  days  hence!  Three  days  without 
him!  Three  days  with  only  her  German  and  her  em- 
broidery and  her  thoughts  of  him! 

Perhaps  his  carriage  would  pass  down  her  street  on 
leaving  the  railroad  station.   The  Grosse  Bahnhofstrasse 


218  THE    GREATER    JOY 

was  likely  to  be  flooded  during  a  heavy  rain.  It  would 
be  a  comfort  to  merely  see  his  carnage  or  his  car  whisk- 
ing past. 

But  the  quiet  of  the  obscure  little  street  remained  un- 
broken save  for  the  splashing  of  the  rain. 

Heavy  footsteps  suddenly  tramped  upstairs.  There 
came  a  rap  at  the  door.  She  called  "herein"  indetermi- 
nately. Had  he  disguised  his  footstep,  and  had  he  man- 
aged, on  his  way  home,  to  stop  in  to  see  her? 

The  door  opened  and  a  boy  in  a  white  cap  and  apron 
entered.  He  was  drenched,  cap  and  all.  His  rough, 
abnormally  red  cheeks  gave  the  impression  of  cheap  dye 
that  had  run  through  being  prematurely  brought  in  con- 
tact with  something  moist.  He  was  loaded  down  with  a 
tall  case  strapped  together  with  heavy  leather  thongs, 
used  for  carrying  dishes  from  restaurants. 

"The  gentleman  is  coming  right  after  me/*  he  an- 
nounced. Ulrich  entered.  He  likewise  was  dripping 
wet.  He  was  loaded  down  with  a  package  evidently  con- 
taining several  bottles  of  wine.  In  her  astonishment, 
Alice  sat  down  limply  on  the  couch.  Ulrich  laid  his  lin- 
ger on  his  lips  to  warn  her  from  crying  out  his 
name. 

"I  didn't  think  you  would  care  particularly  to  go  out 
in  this  rain  for  supper,"  he  said,  "so  I  stopped  at  a  ca- 
terer's. He  would  not  serve  us  later,  so  I  had  them 
send  the  things  now." 

Here  he  winked  his  eye  to  Alice. 

"But,  mein  Herr,  how  could  we?"  said  the  boy  ear- 
nestly. "We  are  so  very  busy.  Princess  Sylvia  is  giv- 
ing an  afternoon  tea  to  the  Cabinet  Ministers  and  their 
wives — it  is  a  crazy  fashion  she  has  adopted  since  she  was 
in  America — and  every  one  of  us  will  be  busy  carrying 
and  serving  an  hour  hence,  for  you  must  know,  mein 


THE    GREATER   JOT  S19 

Herr,  we  make  all  the  Gefrorenes  and  bake  all  the  Tor  ten 
that  are  used  at  Court." 

Ulrich  was  vastly  entertained. 

"You  had  better  not  speak  so  disrespectfully  of  any 
fashion  set  by  a  member  of  the  Royal  House/'  he  said. 

"Oh,  as  for  that,  my  fine  sir,"  the  boy  stood  and 
laughed  at  Ulrich,  "if  it's  a  case  of  Use  majesU,  I've  got 
you.  You  grumbled  enough  at  our  'toadying  to  Court' 
because  we  couldn't  oblige  you  an  hour  later." 

When  the  boy  was  gone,  Alice  approached  Ulrich  with 
extended  arms,  ready  to  fling  herself  about  his  neck. 

"Look  out,  dear,  look  out!"  he  cautioned.  "I  am 
shockingly  wet.    And  I  cannot  open  this  top  button." 

"Let  me  help  you,"  she  said. 

"No,  no."  His  fingers  worked  nervously  over  the  re- 
calcitrant button,  while  his  eyes  fairly  gloated  upon  her. 

"Do  let  me  help  you,  Ulrich." 

"No,  no,  you  mustn't  touch  me  till  I  have  this  coat  off. 
I  was  never  so  wet  in  my  life,  not  even  in  the  bath-tub. 
Confound  that  button !  I  shall  tear  it  off,  if  I  can.  And 
to  have  to  wait  for  a  kiss  all  this  time !" 

"You  don't  have  to  wait,"  she  responded  gaily.  "But 
you  are  defending  yourself  against  me  as  if  I  were  the 
bubonic  plague." 

"The  bubonic  plague  is  not  nearly  as  dangerous  as 
your  kisses,"  he  retorted.  "Oh,  blankety-blank  that  but- 
ton !    Look  out,  dear,  your  lovely  kimono !" 

He  held  her  off  with  one  arm,  the  arm  that  was  less 
wet  than  the  other,  and  continued  to  fuss  at  the  button. 
But  it  would  not  come  undone.  With  a  quick,  graceful 
gesture,  she  flung  back  her  arms.  The  kimono  slipped 
from  her  shoulders  to  the  floor. 

"Change  your  tailor,  Ulrich !  That  is  the  way  a  prop- 
erly made  garment  comes  off !" 


220  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Alice!" 

She  was  in  his  arms,  his  wet  face  and  moustache  upon 
her  soft  shoulders,  upon  the  white,  warm,  heaving 
bosom. 

"Alice,  I  thought,  dearest,  I  would  go  mad  if  I  couldn't 
get  to  see  you  to-day,  couldn't  be  with  you  to-night " 

"To-night,  Ulrich — you  have  a  Cabinet  Meeting  at 
eight  to-night." 

"Yes,  I  have,  at  least  I  should  have  had.  I  have  post- 
poned it  until  to-morrow  morning." 

"How  did  you  find  the  Grand-duke  at  Hohenhof- 
Lohe?" 

"My  cousin  is  dying  by  inches.  I  can  do  nothing  but 
alleviate  his  suffering.  He  may  last  ten  years  more.  Do 
you  know  what  I  did,  Alice,  about  that  plaguey  Cabinet 
Meeting?  I  telegraphed  from  Hohenhof-Lohe  that  I 
had  missed  my  train,  and  that  the  meeting  must  be  post- 
poned, therefore,  until  seven  o'clock  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. Think  of  all  those  worthy  Cabinet  Ministers,  Herm- 
helm  and  the  rest,  who  are  used  to  lie  abed  until  eight 
o'clock,  having  to  be  ready  for  me  by  the  unearthly  hour 
of  seven!" 

He  laughed  and  chuckled  like  a  school-boy  playing 
truant.  Alice  had  never  seen  him  look  so  young,  so  boy- 
ish, so  irresponsible,  almost,  and  for  the  first  time  the 
quiver  of  pride  and  love  that  he  aroused  in  her  held  the 
subtle  note  of  the  maternal,  which  sooner  or  later  comes 
into  the  heart  of  every  woman  for  the  man  whom  she 
truly  loves.  She  humored  him,  knowing  that  she  was 
doing  so,  and  that  for  once  he  did  not  know. 

"And  you  walked  here  in  all  this  weather?" 

"Not  a  vehicle  to  be  had.  Besides,  I  dreaded  recogni- 
tion. Those  cabmen  are  the  very  devil  for  recognizing 
one.     And  then  I  wanted  to  stop  at  the  caterer's." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  221 

She  pretended  to  be  horrified. 

"You  don't  mean  you  actually  went  into  a  caterer's 
shop?" 

"My  dear,"  he  mimicked  her  tone  of  outraged  propri- 
ety, "I  had  the  hardihood  to  walk  into  a  caterer's  shop, 
and  with  this  same  royal  mouth  that  is  now  speaking,  to 
order  the  food  that  later  on  is  to  regale  us.  And  such  a 
banquet,  my  dear,  as  I've  procured!  We  will  fare  as 
well  as  at  Galetti's.  I  have  champagne,  and  the  ice  for 
it ;  chicken  a  la  Newburgh — only  they  do  not  call  it  that 
here,  and  it's  in  a  sort  of  thermos  dish.  The  man  vowed 
it  would  keep  hot  for  three  hours.  And  asparagus  tips 
and  baked  artichokes,  wine  jelly,  biscuit  tortoni  and  sole 
with  sauce  a  la  Tartar." 

"Does  the  sole  a  la  Tartar  follow  the  biscuit  tortoni 
on  your  menu  ?" 

"You  little  minx!  I  sha'n't  tell  you  the  rest  Kiss 
me,  Alice." 

"Heavens — is  the  man  mad?  What  else  have  I  been 
doing  ever  since  you  came  in?" 

"Look  how  wet  you  have  made  yourself,  Alice;  you 
will  take  a  chill." 

She  disengaged  herself  and  procured  a  towel,  with 
which  she  dried  her  face  and  arms,  for  she  was  as  wet 
as  if  she  had  washed.  But  she  did  not  think  of  brushing 
the  moisture  from  her  head,  and  it  clung  to  her  fair,  pale 
halo  of  hair,  imparting  a  lustre  to  it  as  of  diamonds  and 
opals.  Then  she  slipped  back  into  her  kimono,  fasten- 
ing it  modestly  about  neck  and  waist. 

"What  a  lark  this  is,  Ulrich!"  She  had  entered  into 
his  spirit. 

"Isn't  it?"  He  was  rid  of  his  raincoat  at  last,  and 
stood  examining  the  further  degree  of  dampness  of  his 
clothes. 


222  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"You  are  wet  through  and  through.  You  had  better 
take  off  your  shoes ;  and  your  coat." 

"Nonsense,  I  can't  sit  in  my  stocking  feet  and  shirt 
sleeves." 

She  went  into  the  bedroom  and  found  his  smoking 
jacket  and  bedroom  slippers,  and  brought  them  for  him. 
Instantly  he  was  on  his  feet,  and  relieved  her  of  the 
things. 

"My  dear,"  he  remonstrated,  "I  really  cannot  permit 
you  to  wait  on  me." 

She  responded  demurely: 

"I  am  playing  at  being  a  proper,  spiessbuergerliche 
Ehefrau,  a  good,  housewifely  little  bourgeois." 

He  kissed  her  hands  fervently. 

"Go  and  change  your  things,"  she  commanded,  "or 
you  will  fall  ill  with  pneumonia,  and  will  not  be  able  to 
go  home,  but  will  have  to  stay  right  here  in  my  rooms. 
And  the  scandal  I  leave  to  your  imagination." 

"My  dear,  I  am  so  happy."  Once  more  he  laughed 
delightedly,  and  then  went  into  the  small  hall  room  ad- 
joining her  sleeping  apartment  which  he  used  as  a  dress- 
ing room.  He  changed  his  shoes,  washed,  combed,  and 
donned  the  velvet  smoking  jacket. 

But  the  few  minutes  that  were  consumed  by  his  ablu- 
tions assumed  gigantic  proportions  in  their  perfervid  im- 
aginations. The  acute  unrest  that  always  seized  them 
when  they  were  under  the  same  roof,  but  not  in  imme- 
diate proximity  with  each  other,  rushed  over  them  as 
incoming  breakers  hurl  themselves  upon  the  beach.  In 
that  brief  moment  of  separation  they  seemed  to  have 
become  aliens  to  each  other,  to  have  been  whirled  asun- 
der by  some  cruel  fate,  and  now,  as  they  stood  looking  at 
each  other,  he  felt  a  violent  desire  to  take  her  in  his 
arms. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  223 

i 

Without  a  word  they  fell  into  each  other's  arms,  em- 
bracing rapturously,  kissing  each  other  madly,  blindly, 
with  a  sort  of  undirected  wildness,  that  seemed  barren 
of  accomplishment,  of  meaning,  that  seemed  a  mere 
brutal  outlet  for  the  mysterious  energy  which  their 
mutual  presence  had  engendered. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  all  day,  Alice?" 

"I  studied  German  all  the  morning." 

"Alone?" 

"Yes." 

"Poor  child!  What  a  dull  morning  you  must  have 
had!" 

i"My  afternoon  recompensed  me." 
"What  did  you  do  in  the  afternoon — read?" 
"No,  I  thought." 
"Thought — hm."     He  turned  up  his  nose  disdainfully. 
"Why  not  improve  yourself  by  reading?"  he  queried  in 
a  grandfatherly    way  which  he  sometimes  adopted  to 
tease  her. 

"How  can  I  improve  my  mind  more  than  by  thinking 
of  you  ?"  she  asked  demurely. 

The  color  surged  to  his  face. 

"You  are  fond  of  me,  aren't  you,  dear?"  he  asked 
caressingly. 

He  was  still  standing,  and  again  something  in  his  man- 
ner gave  her  the  impression  of  youth — as  if  he  were  not 
merely  as  young  as  herself  but  as  untouched  by  life.  It 
was  a  delicious  sensation.  She  was  delighted  to  have 
discovered  this  side  of  him.  Primarily  he  always  awed 
her.  She  had  never  felt  quite  certain  of  him.  He  had 
seemed  so  experienced,  so  sure  of  himself,  so  much  the 
man  of  the  world,  and  his  dignity,  his  self-possession, 
had  always  appeared  so  perfect,  so  finely  polished.  Even 
when  he  had  kissed  her  in  the  moments  of  his  most  ar- 


224.  THE    GREATER    JOY 

dent  wooing,  even  in  his  embrace,  she  had  seemed  to  her- 
self a  green,  callow  little  girl  as  compared  with  him  and 
all  his  little  elegances  of  manner.  Often  and  often  she 
wondered  what  he,  of  all  men,  should  have  seen  in  her  to 
love  as  he  did,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  great  world  to 
which  he  had  been  born,  and  who,  perhaps,  if  confronted 
with  it,  would  be  a  stupid,  sodden  failure  in  spite  of  her 
beauty,  which,  of  course,  she  could  not  help  but  know 
was  undeniable.  At  such  times  a  crucifying  fear  had 
come  over  her,  and  a  little  voice  seemed  to  tap  out  the 
words  somewhere  at  the  base  of  her  brain,  and  commu- 
nicate them  to  her  ears:  "What  if  he  is  only  amusing 
himself  with  you  after  all?" 

In  her  saner  moments  it  had  seemed  to  her  that  that, 
of  course,  was  all,  that  he  was  merely  amusing  himself 
for  a  little  while,  and  that  she  must  make  the  best  of  that 
little  period  while  it  lasted.  But  she  did  not  desire  to  be 
sane — not  on  that  score — and  she  discouraged  these 
thoughts  from  intruding  upon  her  consciousness.  But 
the  memory  of  them  lay  tucked  away  in  her  heart,  and 
now  the  memory  of  them  suddenly  made  her  happy,  for 
she  saw  that  at  heart  he  was  younger  than  she  had  sup- 
posed, that  he  was  quite  boyish.  The  worldly  wise  ve- 
neer had  dropped  away  from  him  for  once  and  she  had 
penetrated  at  last  to  the  real  man. 

Together  they  sat  down  upon  the  couch.  Tenderly  he 
said: 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  darling?  I  have 
never  seen  you  so  mischievous." 

He  took  her  hands  in  his,  and  clasped  them  together, 
folding  them  in  his. 

His  eyes  were  dancing.  The  little  flashes  of  light  that 
they  always  sent  forth  the  moment  he  looked  at  her 
seemed  like  a  sunbeam  afloat  in  a  purling  brook.     And 


THE    GREATER    JOY  225 

she  could  not  have  said  how  the  thought  came  to  her  out 
of  the  unfathomable  chaos  where  all  thought  is  born,  but 
at  the  moment  as  she  gazed  upon  this  polished,  reserved, 
grave  man  who  had  suddenly  been  transformed  into  a 
great,  mischievous,  lovable  boy,  it  seemed  to  her  that  pre- 
cisely such  would  be  the  image,  the  expression,  the 
charm,  the  glamour  of  his  son,  when  he  would  have  one. 
And  together  with  that  thought  came  the  bitter  realiza- 
tion that  she  would  never  be  able  to  bear  him  that  child, 
that  son.     That  greater  joy  would  be  denied  her! 

It  was  a  moment  of  intolerable  anguish. 

Perhaps  only  at  this  moment  did  she  realize  how 
deeply  and  truly  she  loved  the  man.  In  her  terror  lest 
the  agony  she  was  living  through  be  mirrored  in  her 
face,  she  would  have  withdrawn  her  hands  from  his  clasp 
and  forcibly  have  held  her  features  in  check  to  restrain 
them  from  expressing  her  distress.  But  he  held  her 
hands  firmly,  repeating: 

"What  makes  you  so  mischievous,  sweetheart?" 

The  delicious  moment  had  passed.  The  sensation  of 
youth,  pristine,  eternal,  disembodied  youth,  had  fled. 
They  no  longer  trod  on  snow-capped,  sunlit  mountains. 
Once  more  they  were  in  the  valley — once  more  mere  man 
and  woman — lovers.  But  the  valley  was  pleasant,  too, 
ah,  so  pleasant!  The  delicious  feeling  of  having  him 
there,  of  having  drawn  him  back  to  her  after  an  absence 
of  only  a  few  hours,  surged  through  her  like  old  wine. 

"Ulrich,  dearest,  I  am  so  happy  you  have  come,  that 
is  all." 

She  was  frightened  when  she  found  she  had  again 
shown  him  her  complete  joy  in  him.  To  remove  the  im- 
pression, she  sat  upon  his  knee.  It  occurred  to  her  that 
this  did  not  mend  matters,  and  she  edged  away  from  his 
mouth,  as  far  as  she  could. 


2S6  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"It's  very  unwise  of  me  to  tell  you  I  am  so  fond  of 
you." 

He  was  greatly  amused  by  her  assumption  of  a  worldly 
wise  little  air  as  she  ventilated  this  view. 

"Upon  my  word,  and  why?" 

"Because  she  who  is  a  wise  and  not  a  foolish  virgin, 
tries  always  to  appear  a  little  aloof,  a  little  unattainable 
to  her  lover." 

She  smiled  ever  so  lightly  as  she  uttered  this  opinion. 
There  was  drollery  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  a  dimple 
in  her  cheek,  and  roguery  in  her  eye. 

"She  is  enchanting,"  he  thought.  He  restrained  him- 
self from  kissing  her.  He  was  too  much  of  an  artist  to 
have  destroyed  the  possibilities  of  talk  to  which  her  re- 
mark seemed  to  point,  by  an  ill-timed  manifestation  of 
passion,  which  might  just  as  well  be  delayed. 

"I  am  sure,  sweetheart,  you  have  acquired  that  silly 
notion  from  some  wicked  Frenchman." 

"I  thought  you  liked  the  'silly  Frenchman*  yourself." 

"I  do — immensely.  But  I  do  not  take  everything  they 
say  as  gospel  truth.  Good  old  Balzac,  honest,  hard- 
working, plodding  soul,  starving  and  freezing  in  his  gar- 
ret, inditing  impossible  love  letters  to  Madame  Hansa, 
besieged  by  his  creditors,  cajoling  his  landlady  to  get  rid 
of  them  for  him,  and  finally  finding  a  refuge  from  them 
in  a  shabby,  inaccessible  rear-house.  What  did  he  really 
know  of  the  great  ladies  and  their  lovers  whom  he  de- 
scribed so  glowingly?" 

"Why,  Ulrich,  dear,  you  always  pretended  to  worship 
Balzac." 

"Worship  him!  I  devoured  him,  just  the  way  you 
did — you  wise  little  kitten— when  I  was  in  my  teens. 
And  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  he  did  not  supply  part  of  the 
impetus  for  my  amatory  escapades." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  %%! 

"Go  on,  dear,  go  on,"  she  said. 

She  felt  an  insatiable  curiosity  as  to  his  "escapades," 
of  which,  as  yet,  he  had  told  her  so  little.  Modesty  and 
discretion  forbade  that  she  question  him  directly  con- 
cerning his  past,  but  she  hoped  that  he  might  inadver- 
tently let  slip  some  recollection  or  other  of  those  wild 
Paris  days. 

She  settled  herself  more  comfortably  on  his  knee,  and 
then,  remembering  that  even  the  most  devoted  knee  may 
become  cramped  and  uncomfortable  if  unduly  imposed 
upon,  and  that  he,  perhaps,  would  feel  embarrassment 
in  admitting  it,  she  slipped  down  to  the  floor,  and  sat  be- 
fore him  in  the  posture  of  a  Hindu  adoring  Buddha.  As 
he  offered  no  remonstrance,  she  concluded  that  his  knee 
had  been  cramped,  and  she  wondered  whether  he  appre- 
ciated her  delicacy  in  removing  herself  opportunely. 
And  then  her  native  sense  of  humor  got  the  better  of  her. 
The  situation  struck  her  as  truly  ludicrous.  Try  as  she 
would,  she  could  not  choke  back  her  merriment.  Throw- 
ing back  her  shoulders,  and  resting  herself  upon  the 
palms  of  her  hands  thrown  backward,  she  gave  vent  to  a 
peal  of  silvery  laughter. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you  to-day?"  he  demanded. 
"Your  manner  is  almost  Bacchanalian!" 

Infected  by  her  merriment,  he  was  laughing  without 
having  the  remotest  idea  what  she  was  laughing  about. 

She  bit  her  lips  to  regain  her  gravity.  The  laughter 
had  flushed  her  face.  It  was  almost  more  than  flesh  and 
Blood  could  bear  to  see  her  thus  and  not  kiss  her. 

"Never  mind,  Ulrich,  dear,  I  am  in  a  ridiculous  mood 
to-day.  I  am  so  very  happy  because — no,  I  will  not 
again  commit  the  imprudence  of  which  I  have  been 
guilty  half  a  dozen  times  to-day,  as  it  is." 

"Forget  that  silly  notion  of  Balzac's,  dearest.     I  know 


228  THE    GREATER    JOY 

the  passage,  but  cannot  repeat  it  at  random.  There  is  no 
unwisdom  in  showing  you  are  fond  of  me.  Balzac  was 
a  great  artist,  and  precisely  for  this  reason  he  was  never 
quite  true  to  nature.  He  sees  events,  men,  women,  their 
love-affairs  through  his  own  particular  prism  like  every 
other  artist,  whether  painter,  poet,  novelist  or  musician, 
and  it  is  precisely  this,  the  ability  to  make  others  see  life 
through  the  medium  of  his  own  vision,  that  constitutes 
the  artist.  But  there  are  certain  fictions  that  must  be 
maintained.  When  we  see  an  actress  portrayed  on  the 
stage,  we  never  see  an  actress  as  she  actually  is,  as  every- 
one will  tell  you  who  has  acquaintance  with  actor-folk, 
nor  do  we  see  exactly  the  character  which  the  artist  had 
in  mind  when  he  created  the  figure.  If  the  artist  is  at 
all  practical  he  has  kept  his  eyes  riveted  on  the  require- 
ments of  the  public,  and  he  has  fashioned  the  character 
of  the  actress  to  be  a  sort  of  composite  picture  of  what 
the  public  wants  to  see  and  expects  to  see  as  soon  as  it 
sees  from  the  program  what  the  profession  of  this  par- 
ticular woman  is,  and  of  what  he  actually  wanted  the 
character  to  be. 

"You  find  this  trait  very  strongly  developed  in  Balzac, 
and  it  is  the  cause  of  his  enormous  popularity.  His  men 
and  women  are  real  flesh  and  blood  because  they  have 
individual  lives  and  individual  thoughts ;  but  Balzac  does 
not  give  them  individual  emotions.  There  are  certain 
stock  emotions  which  are  supposed  to  inform  men  and 
women,  good  and  bad,  and  these  stock  emotions,  or  rather 
the  notions  of  them,  vary  in  different  countries.  They 
are  sharply  defined  in  France,  where  everything — man- 
ners, morals,  wit,  art — is  imbued  with  an  incisiveness 
and  clearly-limned  precision  that  the  manners,  morals, 
wit,  art  of  other  nations  lack,  because  graceful  emphasis 
is  peculiar  to  the  genius  of  France. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  229 

"Balzac's  men  and  women  are  individuals  only  up  to 
a  certain  point.  Once  they  fall  in  love,  or  become  ambi- 
tious, or  fall  in  debt,  they  degenerate  into  mere  entities, 
and  behave  in  the  manner  prescribed  by  French  stock 
notions. 

"Thus  the  individual  verity  is  sacrificed  to  the  univer- 
sal. There  are  certain  emotions  which  unite  men,  and 
there  are  other  emotions  which  differentiate  them.  Love 
all  men  feel,  but  the  desire  for  glory  through  literary  at- 
tainment only  a  few  men  will  thoroughly  comprehend. 
By  making  a  direct  appeal  to  the  universal  emotions,  as 
all  true  masters  do,  the  artist  recognizes  that  it  is  not  so 
much  his  own  creature  or  creation  that  interests  the  pub- 
lic, as  the  emotions  themselves,  because  these  emotions 
correspond  more  or  less  closely  to  the  sentiments  and 
emotions  that  inspire  the  onlooker.  To  secure  this  end, 
it  is  necessary  to  sacrifice  certain  fine  nuances.  All  lovers 
must  act  very  much  alike.  All  young  girls  in  love  for 
the  first  time  must  act  very  much  the  same.  The  rigid 
adherence  to  this  idea  has  made  the  novels  of  France  at 
once  the  most  brilliant  in  form  and  the  most  shallow  in 
substance  of  the  novels  of  the  world. 

"You  must  realize  that  this  is  true,  Alice,  now  that  you 
have  seen  a  little  of  life,  and  lived  a  little  of  life.  Do  you 
think  it  would  make  me  happier  if  you  were  cold  and 
reticent  with  me,  or  gloomy  and  subtle,  when  I  come  to 
see  you,  instead  of  being  sweet  and  charming  and  natu- 
ral, as  you  invariably  are?" 

"That's  all  very  well,  Ulrich.  I  don't  suppose  it  would 
make  you  happier  if  I  were  less  frank  in  my  avowals, 
but  I  think  it  would  make  me  happier  in  the  end." 

She  had  become  grave  suddenly,  and  her  gravity  robbed 
her  of  her  girlishness,  robbed  her  of  the  moon-beam- 
like, naiad-like  quality  which  usually  invested  her.     The 


230  THE    GREATER    JOY 

woman-quality  was  uppermost  and  dominant;  it  was 
sweet,  adorable,  delicious,  yet  withal  almost  aggressively 
resonant  in  her  movements,  her  eyes,  her  voice.  He  be- 
came frightened.  He  knew  what  she  meant,  yet  he 
could  not  resist  asking: 

"What  do  you  mean,  Alice  ?  Why  should  you  be  hap- 
pier if  you  refrained  from  showing  me  your  love  ?" 

She  placed  an  elbow  on  his  knee,  and  rested  her  face 
in  the  cup  of  her  hand. 

"It  will  bore  you  some  day,  my  Ulrich,  to  hear  me  tell 
you  the  same  thing  so  often,  and  then " 

"Alice,  do  you  really  believe  I  shall  ever  cease  loving 
you?" 

As  he  spoke,  he  remembered  his  first  thoughts  in  con- 
nection with  her.  He  had  thought  that  she  would  make 
a  pleasant  interlude  during  his  stay  in  New  York,  before 
his  return  to  Europe.  And  simultaneously  he  recalled 
what  endeavors,  what  efforts  he  had  been  forced  to  em- 
ploy in  order  to  win  her,  and  that,  indeed,  until  quite 
recently,  he  had  regarded  the  liaison  as  a  temporary  one, 
as  enduring  three  or  four  or  five  years,  perhaps — still  a 
temporary  affair.  And  with  sudden  alarm  he  recognized 
the  gradual  change  that  had  come  over  him  in  his  atti- 
tude toward  her,  and  searching  his  own  heart  he  was 
both  amazed  and  filled  with  fear  because  he  saw  therein 
a  desire  that  corresponded  to  her  own,  to  make  sure  of 
her  indefinitely.  Indefinitely — he  fought  blindly  against 
a  stronger,  more  salient  word.  Indefinitely  was  quite 
alarming  enough. 

What  had  become  of  his  conviction  that  the  desire  on 
the  part  of  a  man  to  perpetuate  enduringly  his  relations 
with  any  one  woman,  even  his  own  wife,  was  a  sign  of 
mental  decay  ?  He  had  always  vowed  to  himself  that  no 
one,  man  or  woman,  should  ever  usurp  such  a  proportion 


THE    GREATER    JOY  231 

of  his  own  inwardness,  as  to  become  necessary  to  his  ego. 
What  if  he  should  never  be  able  to  free  himself  from  the 
shackles  he  had  denned  of  his  own  free  will? 

But  his  alarm  died  away  as  he  looked  at  the  dainty, 
white-clad  figure  kneeling  before  him  in  an  adoring  atti- 
tude. Certainly,  there  was  nothing  formidable  about 
her.  She  was  not  a  soul-destroying  vampire,  an  insati- 
able harpy,  such  as  a  man  might  justly  dread,  such  a  one 
who,  if  in  danger  of  being  deprived  of  the  man  she 
covets,  would  be  capable  of  Satanic,  ghoulish  rites  in 
order  to  chain  him  to  her.  She  was  a  tender,  adorable, 
charming  little  woman,  who,  if  told  that  all  must  end, 
would  make  no  distasteful  scene.  In  imagination  he 
could  see  her  lips  quiver,  her  eyes  become  inscrutable 
with  suppressed  misery.  That  would  be  all.  There 
would  be  no  violent  language,  no  vehemence,  nothing  dis- 
agreeable of  any  sort.  His  heart  smote  him.  A  great 
wave  of  tenderness  welled  up  within  him.  It  were  only 
just  to  allay  her  anxiety. 

He  took  her  by  the  shoulders,  and  folded  her  to  his 
heart. 

"Answer  me,"  he  said,  "do  you  really  believe  I  can 
ever  cease  loving  you  ?" 

"Silly — not  just  yet.  Did  you  think  meant  this  very 
minute?" 

The  moment  was  tense.  Unconsciously  she  had  sought 
refuge  in  the  tender  raillery  which,  without  knowing  it, 
she  used  so  skilfully.  He  was  hold'ng  her  very  close, 
and  the  nearness  of  her  lover  subdued  her  voice,  modu- 
lated it  infinitesimally  until  it  trailed  into  a  soft,  cooing 
sound. 

"Yon  know,  Ulrich  dear,  you  are  a  very  mysterious 
person  to  me." 

"I'm  not  at  all  complex,  am  I  ?" 


232  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"So  very  complex,  Ulrich.    Shall  I  tell  you " 

"Yes,  tell  me  all." 

"Sometimes,  Ulrich,  I  think  you  do  not  care  for  me 
half  as  much  as  you  pretend  to.  You  seem  so  self-suffi- 
cient. Then  again  it  seems  to  me  that  you  care  a  good 
deal  more  than  you  say — than  you — say." 

She  had  meant  to  say  the  second  time  "than  you 
know/'  but  the  still  little  voice  at  the  base  of  her  brain 
sounded  a  tocsin  of  warning  in  her  ears:  "Beware,  do 
not  strip  your  feminine,  idolatrous  soul  entirely  bare  for 
the  delectation  of  his  hard,  masculine  eye.  Do  not  allow 
him  to  read  you  completely — do  not  tell  him  how  com- 
pletely you  read  him." 

"Sometimes,  Alice,  my  love/'  he  said,  "I  am  quite  sure 
that  this  is  true." 

He  smothered  her  in  kisses,  and  then  released  her. 

She  began  folding  her  embroidery. 

"Were  you  embroidering  when  I  came  in?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  you  fibbed  before,  when  you  said  you  had  been 
thinking  of  me." 

"No,  no,"  she  protested,  adding  solemnly :  "Didn't  you 
know  that  embroidery  is  merely  an  excuse  for  a  good, 
uninterrupted  think?" 

She  held  the  work  out  to  him  to  admire. 

"It  is  very  pretty." 

"Yes,  I  think  so  myself.  The  design  is  pleasing. 
Rococo,  I  think.  And  look,  Ulrich,  I  have  worked  the 
flowers  in  the  four  corners  in  colors,  the  roses  in  blue 
and  the  forget-me-nots  in  pink." 

"Why  did  you  do  that  ?"  he  asked  in  surprise. 

Something  unusual  in  her  voice  attracted  him,  inter- 
ested him. 

"I  thought  it  would  give  the  cloth  a  Frenchy  look,"  she 


THE    GREATER    JOY  233 

said  with  submissive,  downcast  eyes.  "When  it  is  fin- 
ished, we  will  use  it  as  a  breakfast  cloth,  and  we  will 
imagine  we  are  a  shepherd  and  shepherdess — at  Ver- 
sailles." 

He  was  mute  with  astonishment.  What  a  change  had 
taken  place  in  this  girl  since  she  had  placed  herself  in  his 
hands  three  months  ago !  Three  months  ago,  if  he  had 
made  the  remark  she  had  now  made — in  spite  of  her  play- 
fulness and  drollery — she  would  have  asked  him  what 
he  meant.  Oh,  she  was  charming,  adorable,  quite  per- 
fect!    Earnestly  he  said: 

"Do  you  know,  dear,  that  you  have  changed  immeasur- 
ably ?" 

"Yes,  Ulrich,  I  know  it.  It  is  my  love  for  you  that 
has  transformed  me.  I  realize  that  I  am  different  than 
I  was.  I  feel  different.  I  feel  my  love  for  you  clean 
down  to  my  finger-tips." 

He  put  out  his  hand  to  clasp  her,  but  quick  as  light- 
ning, she  threw  the  cloth  over  his  hands,  and  clasping  her 
hands  over  his,  the  linen  between  them,  she  gazed  into 
his  eyes,  her  own  still  aflame  and  dancing,  her  sweet  lips 
pursed  for  a  kiss. 

His  heart  began  beating  madly.  He  tried  to  disen- 
gage his  hands,  partially  succeeded  with  one  hand,  and 
reversing  conditions,  he  held  down  her  hand  with  his,  the 
linen  still  separating  them. 

She  uttered  a  sharp  cry  of  pain. 

"The  needle,  Ulrich,  the  needle!" 

He  released  her  at  once,  but  the  needle  had  bruised 
deep  into  her  delicate  flesh. 

"I  am  so  sorry  I  hurt  you,"  he  exclaimed. 

Again  desire  swept  over  him.  Uneasily  he  moved 
away  from  her,  as  though  settling  himself  into  a  more 
comfortable  position,  his  one  wish  being  to  commit  no  act 


284  THE    GREATER    JOY 

of  vandalism  by  destroying  the  pretty  scene  she  was  en- 
acting for  him. 

Not  in  his  wildest  moments  of  pleasurable  anticipation 
had  he  expected  to  so  completely  effect  her  conquest. 
He  knew  her  to  be  clever,  playful,  entertaining,  but  he 
had  believed  that  these  qualities  exhausted  the  range  of 
her  versatility,  and  he  had  distinctly  expected  at  times  to 
be  a  little  bored ;  he  had  looked  forward  to  feeling  a  crav- 
ing for  a  lighter,  more  stimulating,  less  substantial  en- 
tertainment. 

He  had  believed  that  as  she  became  inured  to  his  ca- 
resses, she  would  yield  herself  more  fully,  more  willingly, 
to  his  embrace.  But  he  had  believed  her  temperamentally 
incapable  of  ever  taking  the  initiative",  of  wooing  him,  of 
offering  herself,  of  playing  with  him  in  this  exquisitely 
romantic  fashion. 

He  had  never  believed  it  possible,  owing  to  her  mod- 
esty, which  was  always  to  him  her  most  salient  trait, 
which  never  deserted  her  even  in  the  moments  of  most 
profound  intoxication,  of  supreme  physical  exaltation, 
that  she  would  develop  her  playfulness  beyond  the  coy, 
demure,  Quaker-like  raillery  which  had  so  charmed  him 
on  the  first  Sunday  spent  together  in  the  deserted  village. 
He  had  not  believed  that  the  peculiar  genius  required  for 
this  was  hers.  It  filled  him  with  a  sense  of  triumph,  of 
exultation  greater  than  any  success  his  intellectual  at- 
tainments had  ever  brought  him,  to  realize  that  he  had 
brought  about  this  subtle  change,  that  his  brain,  stimu- 
lating hers,  had  achieved  this  transformation. 

Why  could  he  not  abandon  himself  completely  to  the 
delicious  mood  in  which  he  had  found  his  beloved  ?  How 
different  was  her  subjugation  to  that  of  those  women 
who  had  gone  before !  Not  a  mere  fleeting  subjugation 
this,  enduring  only  for  the  brief  span  of  pleasure,  but  a 


THE    GREATER    JOY  2S5 

subjugation  in  which  her  heart,  her  braiii,  her  entire  be- 
ing participated  and  acquiesced. 

He  likened  himself  to  a  man  who,  having  heard  a  sym- 
phony by  Beethoven,  or  an  overture  by  Wagner,  rendered 
only  through  the  meagre  vehicle  of  the  pianoforte,  know- 
ing no  other  instrument,  not  guessing  even  that  other 
instruments  exist,  is  suddenly  ravished  by  hearing  the 
complete  orchestral  score,  the  blending  of  the  various 
voices  of  the  orchestra,  the  sombre  richness  of  the  'cello, 
the  pathos  of  the  violin,  the  sweetness  of  the  flute,  the 
plaintiveness  of  the  oboe,  the  joyousness  of  the  trombone. 

His  desire  for  her  became  almost  insufferable.  He 
closed  his  eyes,  and  a  deep  sigh,  wrenched  from  his 
heart,  broke  from  "his  lips. 

He  felt  her  cool  fingers  upon  his  eye-lids.  He  pulled 
her  hands  away  from  his  eyes,  and  kissed  the  palms 
passionately.     She  squirmed,   her  self-possession   gone. 

"Don't,  Ulrich,  don't,  be  merciful !" 

Panting,  almost  sobbing,  she  flung  herself  into  his 
arms.     He  bent  over  to  kiss  her. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

It  had  been  decided  between  the  three  of  them,  Ul- 
rich,  Sylvia  and  Alice,  that  the  latter  was  to  make  her 
formal  appearance  on  the  occasion  of  the  first  Court  Ball. 
Whatever  Sylvia's  shortcomings  were,  she  was  kindness 
personified  to  Alice.  She  went  to  Paris  with  her  for  the 
express  purpose  of  helping  her  select  her  ball-gown.  She 
took  Alice  to  Paquin's  and  helped  her  decide  on  the 
gown  and  even  got  the  price  down  from  fifteen  hundred 
francs  to  a  thousand  francs.  Even  that  was  a  ruinous 
price,  but  Alice  had  been  saving  and  starving,  and  was 
able  to  pay  for  it  in  hard  cash. 

She  was  greatly  worried  about  her  financial  condition. 
She  had  decided  to  have  her  banker  send  her  her  entire 
little  fortune.  But  she  put  off  from  day  to  day  writing 
him.  Possibly,  also,  he  would  be  able  to  sell  the  old 
homestead,  but  there  seemed  something  sacrilegious  to 
her  in  disposing  of  the  old  place.  She  could  not  possibly 
continue  subsisting  on  her  interest.  That  alone  would 
not  suffice  to  replenish  her  wardrobe  suitably,  for  that 
"suitably,"  which  had  once  been  defrayed  by  three  or 
four  hundred  dollars  a  year,  would  now  require  at  the 
least  ten  times  that  sum. 

She  forgot  her  worries  when  the  ball-dress  arrived, 
and  when  she  surveyed  herself  in  the  overdress  of  gold 
net  embroidered  in  pink  silk  and  silver  thread  draped 
over  pale  blue  chiffon  over  a  lining  of  flesh-colored  silk. 
She  was  too  much  of  a  woman  to  think  of  mere  money 
at  such  a  crowning  moment.    Alice  was  not  vain,  but  as 

236 


THE    GREATER    JOY  237 

she  surveyed  herself  in  the  long  pier  glass,  she  knew  that 
what  Ulrich  and  young  von  Garde  were  telling  her  con- 
tinually was  true.  In  loveliness  she  could  hold  her  own 
with  any  woman  in  the  world. 

Having  hung  it  away  carefully,  she  dressed  in  the 
tailor-made  which  she  had  bought  at  Redfern's  the  day 
before  sailing.  Then  she  remembered  that  she  was  really 
shockingly  hungry.  She  had  not  eaten  a  meal  in  three 
days.  There  was  a  little  restaurant  in  the  Grosse  Opern- 
strasse  where  they  served  a  very  fair  meal  for  a  mark, 
and  she  decided  to  go  there  and  luxuriate.  But  she 
found  that  all  the  money  she  had  left  was  two  ten  Pfen- 
nig pieces — not  even  a  mark.  And  two  weeks  more  to 
wait  before  her  quarterly  allowance  would  arrive! 

She  went  to  the  bureau  and  pulled  open  the  top 
drawer.  From  this  she  took  a  small  box  in  which  she 
kept  what  little  jewelry  she  had.  There  was  an  emerald 
and  pearl  necklace — Ulrich  had  bought  it  for  her  in  Flor- 
ence— and  she  had  not  had  the  heart  to  decline  it.  Then 
there  were  a  few  brooches,  lavallieres  and  pins  of  no 
great  value,  and  an  old-fashioned  set  of  jewelry  set  in 
turquoise  and  pearls,  consisting  of  enormous  pendants 
and  earrings —  brooch,  belt  and  shawl  pins,  bracelets  and 
rings.  It  had  been  her  father's  wedding  gift  to  her 
mother. 

She  wrapped  the  set  up  in  a  linen  handkerchief  and 
thrust  it  into  her  reticule.  She  had  done  all  this  very 
quickly,  as  if  to  banish  thought  and  self-reproach.  At 
the  door  she  paused  before  passing  beyond  the  threshold. 

"Forgive  me,  Mother,"  she  said  half  aloud,  as  if  ad- 
dressing herself  to  some  one  in  the  room,  "I  love  my 
man  more  than  you  loved  yours.  You  would  have 
starved  for  my  father,  but  you  would  not  have  sinned 
for  him/' 


238  THE    GREATER    JOY 

She  went  to  a  pawnbroker's  first,  received  a  pittance 
in  return  for  the  jewelry,  and  then  sought  out  the  res- 
taurant in  the  Grosse  Opernstrasse  to  partake  of  the 
Lucullan  repast  at  eine  Mark. 

She  had  hardly  started  eating  her  meal,  when  she  be- 
came interested  in  some  of  the  phrases  spoken  by  three 
ladies  engaged  in  an  animated  conversation  near  her. 
They  were  speaking  English. 

"I  guess  the  royal  princes  are  all  a  pretty  dissolute  lot. 
They  say  this  one  is  a  perfect  devil." 

"I  am  dying  to  see  him." 

"You  will  when  the  Opera  opens;  he  goes  every 
night." 

"Is  he  the  one  who  is  a  physician?" 

"Yes — he  was  in  New  York  some  time  ago.  They  say 
he  fell  madly  in  love  with  some  woman  in  a  humble  walk 
of  life,  a  school-teacher,  or  a  manicure-girl " 

Here  the  third  lady  who  had  not  spoken  so  far,  inter- 
vened. 

"No,  no,  a  trained  nurse." 

Alice  almost  choked  over  her  food.  She  could  not 
swallow  a  morsel.  Like  the  wedding  guest,  she  could 
not  choose  but  listen. 

"But  one  hears  nothing  of  her." 

"That  is  why  I  do  not  believe  the  story." 

"Perhaps  she's  a  decent  sort  and  keeps  in  the  back- 
ground." 

"That  sort  of  a  woman  a  decent  sort!  Nonsense! 
They  always  get  all  they  can  out  of  a  man.  Last  year  his 
favorite  was  a  married  woman  moving  in  Court  circles. 
I  will  tell  you  her  name  some  other  time.  But  the  au- 
gust person's  infatuation  for  her  did  not  survive  an  un- 
pleasant episode.  The  husband  of  the  lady  returned  un- 
expectedly, and  the  illustrious  personage  was  forced  to 


THE    GREATER    JOY  239 

seek  refuge  in  the  wardrobe,  among  the  husband's  cloth- 
ing, so  rumor  says,  and  as  the  husband  smokes  heavy 
Havanas,  and  the  illustrious  personage  smokes  nothing 
but  cigarettes  of  a  particularly  dainty  blend,  one  can 
image  what  a  delightful  hour  he  passed  among  hubbie's 
old  clothes.  The  lady  relied  on  her  ingenuity  to  get  her 
husband  out  of  the  room  for  a  few  minutes,  so  she  could 
let  her  royal  lover  escape  from  his  ignominous  hiding 
place,  but  the  husband  went  right  to  bed.  She  was 
forced  to  follow,  and  the  illustrious  personage,  invisible 
but  within  distinct  hearing  distance,  was  compelled  to 
remain  wedged  in  among  the  tobacco-saturated  cloth- 
ing." 

The  three  ladies  bubbled  over  with  merriment. 

Alice  felt  hot  and  cold  by  turns.  She  was  unable  to 
move.     She  must  hear  more. 

"Tell  the  other  story,  Mary,"  said  the  first  voice ;  "the 
other  story  is  even  funnier." 

"A  little  danseuse  of  the  opera  was  his  inamorata  some 
seasons  ago.  She  pretended  to  be  very  modest,  and 
would  not  permit  him  to  see  her  undressed.  He  pre- 
sented her  with  a  little  house,  a  pavilion,  I  believe  they 
call  it  here,  and  he  had  the  window  of  the  bathroom  so 
cleverly  constructed  that  it  partially  opened  into  the  air, 
partially  into  a  sort  of  closet  or  pocket  in  the  wall 
large  enough  to  admit  an  adult  person.  Here,  from  this 
secluded  vantage-ground,  he  was  able  to  observe  the 
lady  when  she  stepped  into  her  bath,  and  by  accurately 
describing  to  her  a  slight  blemish  on  her  thigh,  he  was 
able  to  prove  that  he  had  outwitted  her." 

Alice  left  the  table,  her  food  untouched.  She  paid 
her  precious  mark  and  left  the  place. 

What  an  experience  for  a  woman  to  go  through! 
"That  sort  of  a  woman  always  gets  all  she  can  out  of  a 


240  THE    GREATER    JOY 

man."  The  cruel  sentence  reverberated  in  her  ears,  and 
propelled  her  onward  in  a  sort  of  blind  horror.  What, 
after  all,  was  there  about  the  stories  to  make  her  so 
miserable?  She  knew  what  his  life  had  been — he  had 
boasted  of  it  himself — why  then  should  she  take  these 
two  wretched  stories  to  heart? 

Recollections  of  little  endearments,  the  memory  of  a 
night  when  he  had  kissed  her  feet  to  awaken  her,  came 
rushing  back  upon  her.  A  horrible  jealousy  began 
stinging  and  lashing  her.  What  was  the  use  of  being  in- 
sincere with  herself?  She  loved  Ulrich,  and  it  drove  her 
frantic  to  think  that  another  woman  had  been  the  same 
to  him  as  she  was. 

And  there  were  dozens  of  women  in  this  very  city, 
perhaps  more,  who  could  point  to  Ulrich  and  say,  "That 
man  was  once  my  lover."  Dozens  of  women !  The 
thought  nauseated  her.  She  tried  in  vain  to  make  her- 
self believe  that  it  was  not  jealousy  that  was  troubling 
her,  that  it  was  fastidiousness.  Before  she  had  yielded 
herself  to  him,  the  fact  that  he  had  been  living 
"a  man's  life"  had  appealed  to  her  imagination,  and  it 
had  flattered  her  vanity  to  be  singled  out  by  him;  but 
since  she  had  become  his,  since  she  realized  and  knew  the 
intimacy  that  exists  between  lovers,  it  was  insufferable 
to  think  that  those  lips  which  had  kissed  her  mouth,  her 
hair,  her  throat,  her  arms,  had  kissed  the  mouth,  the  hair, 
the  throat,  the  arms  of  others.  .  .  .  Her  imagination 
travelled  on  mercilessly.  .  .  .  She  thrust  the  thoughts 
that  assailed  her  like  tongues  of  fire  away  from  her. 
Fastidiousness — that  was  all  it  was,  surely.  The  thought 
of  his  former  loves  annoyed  her  only  as  it  would  have 
harassed  her  to  wear  a  garment  previously  worn  by  some 
one  else!     But  she  did  not  believe  this  herself. 

The  large  clock  on  the  Neue  Bahnhof  struck  three. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  241 

In  her  perturbations,  she  had  not  noticed  in  what  di- 
rection she  was  walking,  or  rather  running,  for  her 
excitement  had  accelerated  her  gait.  Fortunately  she 
had  travelled  in  a  circle,  and  was  near  home.  She  ran 
the  rest  of  the  way,  and  reached  her  rooms  in  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  wondering  whether  Ulrich  had  gotten  there 
before  her,  for  he  had  announced  himself  the  day  before 
as  due  at  three  o'clock. 

With  a  sigh  of  relief,  she  perceived  that  he  had  not  yet 
come,  as  she  ran  up  the  stairs,  stumbling  in  her  haste. 
Five  minutes  later  he  entered  her  rooms. 

"I  am  late." 

"Yes,  I  was  afraid  you  were  not  coming,"  she  an- 
swered. 

He  threw  down  his  coat,  without  replying.  She  saw 
that  he  was  angry.  What  had  happened  ?  His  face  was 
dark  with  suppressed  fury ;  he  did  not  even  offer  to  kiss 
her. 

"Alice,"  he  said  violently,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "this 
has  got  to  stop.    You — we  cannot  go  on  like  this." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  managed  to  say. 

"I  mean  you  cannot  continue  living  here.  Good 
heavens!  Fve  got  to  come  here,  my  coat  collar  turned 
up,  my  hat  down  over  my  eyes,  to  avoid  recognition." 

Alice  turned  deathly  white.     She  could  not  speak. 

He  began  to  pace  the  floor,  punctuating  his  sentences 
by  striking  at  the  leg  of  table  or  chair  with  his  riding 
whip.    He  broke  forth  again: 

"It  is  degrading  for  both  of  us ;  it  is  making  a  common 
intrigue  of  our  love  when  we  might  be  as  the  gods  and 
enjoy  our  love  and  life  and  all  the  beauty  and  happiness 
which  money  can  buy,  if  it  were  not  for  your  obstinacy." 

Until  this  moment  she  had  been  unable  to  utter  a  word. 
Now  she  regained  the  power  of  speech.     She  did  not 


243  THE    GREATER    JOY 

-- 1 

mind  seeing  him  angry,  for  he  never  appeared  to  better 
advantage  than  when  he  thoroughly  lost  his  temper. 

"I  think  it  would  be  a  good  deal  more  degrading  for 
me,  at  least,"  she  replied  with  considerable  spirit,  "if  I 
were  to  allow  you  to  keep  me,  to  accept  money  from 
you." 

"Yet  I  accept  your  love,  without  making  any  return," 
he  flared  up.  "What  about  that  ?  Do  you  suppose  I  am 
less  sensitive  about  my  debt  to  you  than  you  would  be 
about   yours  to   me?     I    am    making   you    no    return, 


"For  what?"  she  demanded  hotly.  She  had  turned 
very  white  again.  Her  voice  was  trembling.  "For 
what?"  she  asked  angrily. 

"For  you — yourself,  your  love." 

"Oh!" — her  ejaculation  was  a  moan.  "That  is  pre- 
cisely what  I  wanted  to  protect  myself  against.  I  am 
sorry  for  you  if  after  knowing  me  all  these  months  you 
do  not  yet  realize  that  my  love  is  not  purchasable." 

He  became  tender,  conciliatory,  apologetic. 

"Alice,  don't  be  childish.  Why  won't  you  compre- 
hend, dear,  that  it's  the  way  of  the  world  for  a  man  to 
take  care  of  a  woman  when  he  accepts  her  love  ?  A  hus- 
band does  it.  It  is  right.  It  is  natural.  But  you  allow 
me  to  make  you  no  return  whatever.  You  give  and  give 
and  give.  You  will  never  accept.  I  cannot  go  on  like 
this.  I  am  a  man  of  wealth,  a  prince,  and  I  am  behav- 
ing toward  you  like  a  yokel.  I  cannot  go  on  like  this.  I 
hate  myself.  I  love  you  and  cherish  you  more  than  I 
have  ever  loved  or  cherished  anyone  before.  And  before 
I  have  given  ten  times  over  in  return  for  what  I  received 
to  my  ballet-girls,  my  show-girls,  my  singers,  my  demi- 
mondaines.     I  have  never  been  in  a  woman's  debt- " 

"And  you  hesitate  to  be  in  mine,  because  you  class  me 


THE    GREATER    JOY  243 

with  your  ballet-girls,  your  singers,  your  demi-mon- 
daines " 

He  became  furious  again. 

"Be  quiet/'  he  cried,  flourishing  his  whip  about.  So 
angry  was  he  that  he  did  not  notice  she  was  in  danger 
of  encountering  it.  She  retreated  before  it.  "Be  quiet  |" 
He  stamped  his  foot.  "You  are  twisting  and  turning 
everything  I  say." 

It  was  her  turn  to  become  tender  and  conciliatory. 

"Ulrich,"  she  said  soothingly,  "don't  let  us  quarrel. 
What  has  made  you  so  angry?  Come,  tell  me.  I  knew 
you  were  angry  before  you  came  in.  I  knew  it  by  the 
way  you  rapped.  Something  has  happened.  Tell  me 
what." 

"No,  I  won't  tell  you." 

He  took  a  few  more  turns  about  the  room  and  then 
came  and  sat  down  beside  her.  He  took  her  hand  with 
a  gentleness  that  contrasted  strangely  with  his  former 
vehemence,  and  kissed  it. 

"It's  for  your  own  sake,  sweetheart,"  he  said.  "I  wish 
I  could  make  you  understand." 

"Ulrich,  dear,  I  wish  you  were  just  a  plain,  ordinary, 
everyday  citizen.    How  happy  we  could  be  then " 

"I  don't.    I'm  very  fond  of  my  rank." 

"Ulrich,  what  has  happened?" 

He  began  whipping  his  riding  boot  with  his  whip. 

"That  little  obnoxious  animal  of  a  portier,  when  I 
came  in — of  course  he  has  no  idea  who  I  am — made  an 
impertinent  remark  about  you  and  about  my  coming  here 
so  frequently.  And  the  worst  is  I  couldn't  horsewhip 
the  fellow  as  he  deserved,  or  he  would  have  called  a 
gendarme  and  my  identity  would  have  been  discovered 
and  Jrour  reputation  irrevocably  ruined." 

"Don't  be  cross,  Ulrich,  dear." 


244  THE    GREATER    JOY 

She  put  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissed  him  softly 
on  the  cheek. 

He  caught  her  to  his  breast. 

"My  darling,  my  darling,"  he  whispered. 

"Dearest,  I  have  my  new  gown  to  show  you.  I  hope 
you  will  like  it." 

"The  ball  dress?" 

"Yes," 

"No,  don't  show  it  to  me.  I  am  sure  it  is  quite  charm- 
ing. And  I  do  not  want  to  spoil  my  pleasure  of  seeing 
you  in  it.  Think,  sweetheart,  I  have  known  you  for 
over  half  a  year;  you  have  been  my  very  own  for 
four  months,  and  I  have  never  seen  you  in  a  ball 
dress." 

He  was  all  gentleness  now.  Even  as  he  held  her  in 
his  arms,  he  said: 

"Alice,  darling,  don't  you  see  that  a  change  must  be 
made  in  your  mode  of  living?" 

"Ulrich,  do  you  realize  you  have  broken  your  promise 
to-day?  You  promised  me  before  we  left  New  York, 
that  if  I  would  come  and  live  with  you  abroad,  you  would 
never  try  to  force  me  to  accept  things  from  you.  You 
have  broken  that  promise." 

"Well,  dearest,"  he  replied  with  the  utmost  good- 
nature, "as  long  as  I  have  already  broken  the  promise,  I 
might  crack  away  at  it  a  little  more.  I  shall  not  de- 
sist until  I  get  my  way." 

"I  shall  be  seriously  vexed  with  you,  Ulrich,  if  you 
continue  in  this  strain." 

His  good-humor  vanished.  He  became  angry  again. 
His  eyes  flashed  fire.  He  could  not  bear  to  have  his 
will  balked. 

"I  am  not  going  to  allow  you  to  impose  your  absurd 
New  England  conscience  on  me  much  longer." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  245 

"I  don't  think  I  have  imposed  my  absurd  New  Eng- 
land conscience  on  you  very  frequently." 

"No?"  He  was  sarcastic  now,  and  stood  bowing  to 
her  with  mock  courtesy.  "No,  oh,  no.  You  do  not  im- 
pose it  on  me  when  you  force  me  to  see  you  in  this  un- 
fashionable section  of  the  city,  when,  for  the  sake  of  your 
reputation,  you  make  me  take  the  infernal  risk  every 
night  I  come  here  of  making  myself  the  laughing-stock 
of  the  country?  Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you  just  what  a 
joke  it  would  be  on  me  if  I  were  ever  found  out?" 

She  was  tempted  to  retort  that  one  joke  more  or  less 
of  that  sort  should  hardly  matter  to  him.  She  was  think- 
ing bitterly  of  the  stories  she  had  overheard  that  very 
day.    But  she  answered  quite  meekly : 

"I  will  move  to  any  part  of  the  city  that  you  desig- 
nate." 

"And  you  will  allow  me  to  pay  the  rent  and  servants  ? 
No?    Still  obstinate!    I  thought  so." 

He  began  striding  about  again.  She  wished  he  would 
not  be  so  noisy.  The  old  lady  downstairs  was  deaf,  to 
be  sure,  but  deaf  persons  have  an  unfortunate  habit  of 
hearing  things  not  intended  for  them.  But  she  lacked 
the  courage  to  caution  him.  As  if  he  divined  her 
thoughts,  he  turned  upon  her  again : 

"It's  humiliating,  Alice.  Why,  I  don't  as  much  as  dare 
to  laugh  heartily  here,  you  have  told  me  so  often  that 
we  will  be  overheard." 

"You  seem  to  have  no  desire  to-day  to  laugh,  at  any 
rate,"  she  replied  pungently. 

"I  have  often  wondered  that  you  do  not  insist  on  a  div- 
er's helmet  for  us  when  we  kiss — to  muffle  the  sound." 

"Oh,  Ulrich  dear,  do  be  nice." 

Her  lips  trembled,  tears  came  to  her  eyes.  He  said 
loftily : 


246  THE    GREATER    JOY     . 

"May  I  offer  you  your  favorite  cozy  corner  for  a  nice, 
comfortable  cry?     My  shoulder  is  at  your  disposal." 

But  instead  of  the  gentle  raillery  which  he  usually 
employed  when  teasing  her  about  her  facility  in  crying, 
there  was  a  cruel,  ironic  note  to  his  voice  that  cut  like 
a  knife. 

"Alice,  what  have  you  eaten  to-day  ?" 

She  pulled  herself  together. 

"What  a  funny  question,  Ulrich!  You  are  beginning 
to  be  a  frightful  tyrant.  Am  I  not  to  order  a  meal  any 
more  without  having  to  report  afterward " 

"I  want  to  know  of  what  your  dinner  consisted." 

"I  never  remember  what  I  eat.  It's  too  prosaic  a 
topic." 

"Look  here,  Alice.  Do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  what 
that  foul-mouthed  little  animal  downstairs  said  to  me 
to-day?" 

"I  asked  you  before  to  tell  me." 

"I  gave  him  a  ten-mark  piece  as  I  came  in,  and  he 
said,  *  You're  a  fine  fellow ;  you  look  as  if  you  had  enough 
to  eat  yourself,  and  let  your  friend  starve.  But  the  worse 
a  man  treats  a  woman  the  better  she  likes  him.  Other- 
wise your  handsome' — no,  I  won't  tell  you  what  he 
called  you — 'wouldn't  be  satisfied  to  eat  unbuttered  rolls 
three  times  a  day  and  nothing  else  with  them,  when,  I 
bet  you,  my  fine  gentleman  drinks  champagne  and  Lau- 
benheimer,  and  eats  Champignons  and  Pasteten/  " 

"How  absurd!" 

Alice  mustered  a  laugh,  but  it  did  not  ring  true  in  her 
own  ears. 

Ulrich  caught  her  by  the  wrist. 

"Is  it  true?"  he  asked. 

"Ulrich,  you  are  a  goose !  Don't,  dear,  you  are  hurt- 
ing me.     Come,  be  nice.     Let  me  show  you  my  gown, 


.     THE    GREATER    JOY  247 

and  you  will  realize  that  a  woman  who  has  the  money 
to  pay  for  such  a  dress  does  not  starve  herself  for  lack 
of  funds." 

"If  you  show  me  the  dress,  I  will  cut  it  into  shreds 
with  my  whip." 

She  was  on  her  way  to  the  wardrobe  to  get  the  dress, 
and  without  turning,  she  halted  where  she  stood  when 
his  words  fell.  What,  in  heaven's  name,  was  she  to  do? 
She  had  never  seen  him  like  this  before.  He  had  always 
been  so  tender,  so  affectionate.  What  was  wrong  with 
him  or  with  her  to-day?  Perhaps  if  she  kissed  him? 
She  turned  and  walked  toward  him.  But  his  face  was 
so  forbidding,  his  lips  so  narrow  and  cruel,  that  her  heart 
quailed  and  she  shrank  back.  She  remembered  that  Syl- 
via had  told  her  that  her  Uncle  Joachim  had  the  repu- 
tation of  striking  his  women  when  angry.  .  .  .  She  be- 
came confused.  She  became  afraid.  Finally  she  sat 
down  miserably  on  a  little  footstool  as  near  him  as  she 
dared. 

"Alice,  tell  me  the  truth." 

"I  have  never  told  you  anything  but  the  truth." 

She  was  amazed  at  the  placidity  with  which  she  ut- 
tered the  falsehood.  Had  she  not  lied  to  him  five  min- 
utes before  when  she  boasted  of  her  means? 

"Alice,  you  are  the  only  woman  I  have  ever  loved — 
don't  you  see  what  misery  you  are  inflicting  upon  me?" 

He  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands.  She  was  sur- 
prised to  see  how  deeply  he  was  stirred.  In  a  low,  dove- 
like voice  she  said : 

"Ulrich,  I  am  clinging  to  my  last  bit  of  self-respect 
Give  me  time,  dear.  Perhaps  I  will  see  things  differ- 
ently a  little  later  on." 

He  did  not  change  his  attitude,  but  sat  there  like  de- 
jection personified.     She  leaned  over,  and  placing  her 


US  THE    GREATER    JOY 

hands  over  his,  tried  to  draw  them  away  from  his  eyes. 
Unconsciously  he  resisted.  She  slid  to  her  knees.  "Ul- 
rich  dear,  Ulrich,"  but  he  paid  no  heed.  Her  hands 
dropped  away  from  his.  She  sat  huddled  together  in  a 
forlorn  little  heap  at  his  feet. 

Suddenly  he  looked  up,  and  seeing  her  there,  her  face 
at  his  knee,  he  stretched  out  his  arms  to  her.  She  threw 
herself  into  them  with  mad  abandon.  "Ulrich!"  she 
gasped,  "Ulrich,  Ulrich !"  It  seemed  as  if  her  very  soul 
were  being  sent  forth  to  meet  him  as  she  rapidly  pro- 
nounced his  name  three  times  over,  as  if  she  were  send- 
ing forth  the  quintessence  of  herself  to  appeal  to  him  as 
no  mere  words  would  possibly  appeal. 

He  took  her  roughly  by  the  shoulders  and  pressed  his 
fingers  into  her  tender  flesh  until  she  winced.  But  there 
was  more  concentrated  actual  affection  in  his  roughness 
than  in  any  caress  he  could  have  bestowed  upon  her  at 
this  moment.  They  sat  in  silence  for  a  moment,  then  he 
said  abruptly,  as  if  the  thought  had  come  to  him  sud- 
denly : 

"Alice,  I  told  you  a  long  time  ago  that  if  ever  you  de- 
manded the  sacrifice  of  me  I  would  make  it  without  par- 
ley or  protest.  If  you  are  not  at  peace  with  your  con- 
science, if  you  are  suffering,  you  have  only  to  remind  me 
of  my  promise/' 

At  the  word  "sacrifice"  the  blood  mounted  to  her  face. 
How  abysmally  selfish  he  was!  How  was  it  possible 
that  this  man,  so  exquisitely  delicate  where  her  physical 
wellbeing  and  comfort  were  concerned,  could  compla- 
cently ride  rough-shod  over  all  her  finer  sensibilities? 
If  he  had  begged  her  to  marry  him,  instead  of  offering  to 
make  "the  sacrifice,"  she  would  still  have  refused,  so  in- 
tense was  her  horror  that  he  would  later  on  regret  the 
marriage  and  blame  her  for  his  unhappiness  and  dis- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  249 

content.  But  she  did  not  speak  out  her  bitterness.  She 
loved  him  too  dearly.  She  was  too  much  afraid  that 
their  quarrel  of  before  might  be  renewed. 

"Do  not  let  us  speak  of  marriage/'  she  said,  and 
springing  from  the  floor  to  his  knees,  and  bending  his 
head  forward,  she  began  kissing  his  chin,  his  eyebrows 
with  lingering,  gliding  kisses  that  he  had  taught  her. 
Then  she  said : 

"Bend  your  head  down,  dearest,  so  I  may  kiss  my 
little  bald  spot,"  and  tilting  his  head  forward,  she  began 
showering  kisses  upon  his  head. 

"Don't,  don't  waste  all  those  kisses  on  the  back  of  my 
head,"  he  begged. 

Laughing,  she  tossed  his  head  from  her,  and  twirled 
it  about  so  that  they  were  face  to  face.  But  his  eyes  were 
still  cold  and  hard,  unwarmed  by  the  flicker  of  love-light 
which  she  had  expected  to  find  there.  She  felt  chilled, 
hurt.  She  wanted  to  say,  "Why  don't  you  kiss  me,  Ul- 
rich  ?"  But  the  woman  in  her  rebelled.  The  woman  had 
gone  as  far  as  she  might  without  abasing  herself.  So  she 
said  instead: 

"Are  you  still  angry,  Ulrich?" 

He  gave  her  a  smile  and  laid  his  cheek  against  hers. 
It  was  a  gesture  of  pure  affection.  She  knew  it  to  be 
such  and  was  satisfied.  A  feeling  of  peace  came  over  her. 
But  he  was  ill  at  ease.  He  felt  as  if  the  anger  that  had 
passed  through  him  had  drained  him  of  the  capacity  for 
passion,  and  he  accused  himself  of  indelicacy  and  cru- 
elty in  not  responding  to  her  advances,  when  she  had 
behaved  with  such  sweetness,  such  humility  after  the 
harassing  interview  through  which  they  had  gone. 

He  passed  his  hand  under  her  arm.  He  felt  her  sigh 
deeply  against  his  cheek.  She  fell  back  in  his  arms.  Her 
head  rested  heavily  upon  his  shoulders;  her  entire  body 


350  THE    GREATER   JOY 

relaxed.  Her  face  was  transformed.  Never,  he  thought, 
looking  at  her  with  cold,  discerning  approval,  had  he 
seen  her  more  supremely  lovely.  Why  then  did  his  pul- 
ses not  leap  at  sight  of  her?  Why  did  not  the  sight  of 
her  emotion  kindle  his?  She  uttered  a  moan  half  of 
pleasure,  half  of  weariness.  Slowly  her  eyes  opened. 
Their  expression  was  infinitely  alluring.  Her  lips  fell 
apart,  revealing  the  gleam  of  her  teeth,  white  coral  be- 
hind the  pink. 

He  reflected  that  even  the  purest  of  women  has  in  her 
something  of  the  courtesan  and  is  bound  to  reveal  this 
attribute  at  some  time  or  other  to  the  man  she  loves. 
He  remembered  Balzac's  saying  that  the  ideal  wife  is 
the  cold,  pure,  unapproachable  companion  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world,  but  her  husband's  desirable  and  passionate 
mistress  when  alone  with  him. 

Suddenly  a  wave  of  emotion  swept  over  him,  towering 
like  the  wall-like  combers  that  rise  out  of  the  incoming 
tide  of  a  stormy  sea.  His  face  approached  hers  with  tor- 
turing slowness.  His  mouth  closed  upon  her  half-open 
lips. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Three  days  later  Alice  met  the  little  Hereditary  Prince 
for  the  first  time.  She  was  waiting  in  one  of  the  ante- 
chambers on  the  main  floor  of  the  Palais  for  Sylvia, 
when  little  Eitel  Egon  came  running  into  the  room  to 
pick  up  a  runaway  ball. 

He  was  a  delicate,  fragile-looking  child,  with  the  pale 
von  Dette  complexion  and  the  wonderful  vor.  Dette  eyes. 
His  features,  too,  were  unmistakably  the  features  of  his 
royal  race,  as  Alice  knew  them  in  the  faces  of  Sylvia  and 
of  her  lover,  and  in  all  the  family  likenesses  that  stared 
down  from  the  walls  of  the  great  picture  gallery  that 
adjoined  the  throne  room,  painted  largely  by  famous 
painters — Largilliere,  Pourbus,  Lely. 

The  little  lad  stood  and  looked  at  her  searchingly,  dis- 
playing quite  as  much  vulgar  curiosity  in  the  new  face 
as  the  child  of  any  commoner. 

"Who  are  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  Miss  Vaughn — Alice  Vaughn." 

"What  a  funny  name !  I  shall  not  be  able  to  remem- 
ber it  unless  I  hear  it  again.  Would  you  mind  repeat- 
ing it?" 

Alice  laughed  and  repeated  "the  funny  name." 

"Is  it  French  or  Italian  ?" 

"Neither.    I  give  you  another  guess." 

The  child  flushed.  He  was  ashamed  of  having  blun- 
dered. 

"I  am  studying  French  and  English  and  German,  one 
language  each   day,"   he   explained.     "It   confuses   me 

251 


252  THE    GREATER    JOY 

dreadfully,  but  Cousin  Ulrich  wishes  me  taught  in  that 
way,  and  I  must  do  what  Cousin  Ulrich  wishes.  I  guess 
your  name  is  English.    Isn't  <it  ?" 

"To  be  exact,  I  am  an  American,"  she  replied. 

"Then  I  ought  to  speak  with  you  in  English.  To-day 
is  my  German  day,  but  when  I  meet  visitors  of  other 
nationalities,  I  am  to  speak  to  them  in  their  own  lan- 
guage, so  if  any  mistake  is  made,  I,  and  not  they,  am 
embarrassed.  Cousin  Ulrich  says  a  gentleman  always 
tries  to  put  others  at  their  ease,  and  so  I  must  learn  to  do 

so  now,    But  you,  Miss  Vaughn,  oh "     He  stopped 

speaking  and  began  laughing  uproariously  after  the  man- 
ner of  a  child.  He  stopped  laughing  as  suddenly  as  he 
had  started. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  gravely,  "that  was  very 
rude  of  me." 

He  came  and  sat  down  beside  Alice,  and  sat  looking 
up  at  her  with  admiration  written  upon  his  dark,  thin 
little  face. 

"I  am  going  to  call  you  Miss  Schatzie,  that  means 
'sweetheart/ "  he  said.  "Only  I  wish  you  weren't  so 
old." 

"So  old?  You  funny  little  boy!  Do  I  seem  so  very 
old?" 

"Rather  old  to  be  my  Schatzie,"  said  the  youngster. 
"You  will  be  quite  wrinkled  by  the  time  I  am  a  man 
like  Cousin  Ulrich." 

"You  seem  very  fond  of  your  Cousin  Ulrich,"  said 
Alice  hurriedly. 

"Everybody  is  fond  of  Cousin  Ulrich.  You  will  be 
fond  of  him,  too,  when  you  meet  him.  And  he  will  like 
you,  because  you  are  so  fair.  Cousin  Ulrich  says  fair 
women  are  the  handiwork  of  God,  and  dark  women  are 
the  handiwork  of  the  Devil." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  253 

"Your  Cousin  Ulrich  surely  didn't  say  that  to  you?" 
"No,  he  said  it  at  a  ball  one  evening.     And  all  the 
fair  women  kept  repeating  it  in  the  hearing  of  the  dark 
women  the  next  day.     Cousin  Sylvia  was  perfectly  furi- 
ous." 

Again  the  little  chap  doubled  up  with  laughter.    Sud- 
denly he  said  in  a  confidential  tone : 
"I  do  not  like  Cousin  Sylvia." 
"It  is  wrong  not  to  love  one's  relatives." 
"Look  here  Fraeulein  Schatzie,"  said  the  youngster, 
his  eyes  twinkling  with  mischief  as  he  gave  her  this 
name,  "you  don't  know  me  long  enough  to  preach  to  me. 
I  get  enough  of  that  as  it  is,  I  can  tell  you." 
Alice  was  vastly  amused. 

"Who  preaches  to  you?"  she  asked,  "Cousin  Ulrich?" 
"Cousin  Ulrich!  Oh,  no.  He  spanks  me  when  I'm 
bad.  That  is,  to  be  exact,  he  only  spanked  me  once,  and 
that  was  long  ago.  I  deserved  it.  Cousin  Ulrich  is  very 
fair.  I  had  told  a  lie.  Cousin  Ulrich  says  it  is  the  un- 
forgivable sin  for  a  gentleman  to  lie,  unless  you  can 
spare  a  woman  embarrassment  by  lying.  Then  a  false- 
hood is  permissible.  When  we  were  in  the  coun- 
try in  the  Sommerschloss  the  next  summer,  the  miller's 
little  daughter,  with  whom  I  used  to  play,  began  to  cry 
one  evening  because  I  hadn't  kissed  her  good-bye.  The 
drawbridge  had  been  opened  for  a  canal-boat,  and  as  it 
was  late,  and  my  French  governess  was  in  a  hurry  to  get 
home  and  prink  up  for  supper,  I  walked  back  to  Lieschen 
over  a  narrow  plank  that  had  been  thrown  across  the 
canal.  I  tripped  and  fell  into  the  canal,  and  one  of  the 
boatmen  fished  me  out,  and  the  miller  gave  the  man  a 
two-mark  piece,  and  the  man  grumbled,  and  said  it  was 
'verdammt  wenig'  for  saving  a  prosperous  miller's  son, 
and  my  governess  stormed  about  like  a  mad  woman  be- 


254  THE    GREATER    JOY 

cause  I  had  been  taken  for  a  miller's  boy,  and  Lieschen 
sat  and  howled,  and  everything  was  lovely.  And  all  that 
fuss  only  because  I  had  forgotten  to  kiss  Lieschen  at  the 
start.  Nor  was  that  all.  When  I  got  home,  Cousin  Ul- 
rich  wanted  to  know  how  I  had  gotten  myself  so  wet, 
and  I  said  I  had  fallen  into  the  canal  in  trying  to  save 
my  cap.  Then  my  governess  said,  'Mon  Dieu,  Mon- 
sieur le  Prince,  Venfant  ne  dit  pas  vrai!  Then 
Cousin  Ulrich  looked  very  grave,  and  said,  'Du  kleiner 
Schlingel,  now  come  and  tell  me  the  truth.'  So  I  had 
told  him  I  had  fibbed  because  he  had  once  said  it  was 
all  right  to  fib  in  order  to  spare  a  woman  embarrassment, 
and  I  didn't  suppose  the  miller's  Lieschen  would  like  all 
the  world  to  know  she  cried  because  I  hadn't  kissed  her. 
Then  Cousin  Ulrich  laughed  till  the  tears  stood  in  his 
eyes,  and  later  I  heard  him  say  to  the  Hofmarschall, 
'Der  Bengel  faengt  jung  an!  But  we  are  speaking  Ger- 
man all  the  time,  and  it  is  wrong  of  me  to  make  you 
speak  in  my  own  tongue  unless  you  really  want  to." 

"I  don't  mind  in  the  least,  especially  as  so  far  I  have 
listened  principally." 

Eitel  Egon  laughed  delightedly  at  this  sally. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  "I  will  give  you  a  chance  now 
to  say  something.  You  speak  German  very  well.  Of 
course  I  would  have  to  say  that,  even  if  it  were  not  true, 
but  it  is  true.  You  make  one  mistake  only — you  say 
Du  to  me  when  you  should  say  Sie.  You  must  not  use 
the  familiar  'thou/  you  know,  in  addressing  me,  as  you 
would  in  speaking  to  another  child." 

"Mustn't  I  ?"  said  Alice,  a  trifle  confused.  The  child's 
sangfroid  was  uncanny. 

"Perhaps  you  do  not  know  who  I  am.  You're  not 
very  much  interested  in  me,  I'm  afraid,  or  you  would 
have  asked.     Allow  me  to  introduce  myself."     Rising, 


THE    GREATER    JOY  Z55 

he  gave  the  military  salute,  bringing  his  lithe  little  body 
into  the  sharp,  angular  position  required.  "I  am  Joachim 
Eduard  Alfons  Georg  Eitel  Egon  von  Dette,  Baron  Oel- 
sen,  Graf  von  und  zu  Strelin,  Graf  von  Meiningen,  Her- 
zog  von  Freylingen,  Fuerst  zu  Haller,  von  Duodocollo, 
von  Mellberg,  und  Erbprinz  von  Hohenhof-Hohe." 

Alice  rose  and  dropped  him  a  courtesy. 

"I  am  delighted  to  make  your  Highness's  acquaint- 
ance," she  said. 

"I  hope  you  mean  it,"  said  Eitel  Egon,  settling  himself 
comfortably  in  the  sofa,  and  drawing  two  apples  from  as 
many  pockets.     "Do  you  eat  apples  ?" 

"Sometimes." 

"Will  you  have  one  now?" 

"No,  thank  you." 

"Do  you  mind  if  1  eat  one?" 

"Why  should  I?" 

Eitel  Egon  reflected. 

"Some  people  object  very  much  to  others  eating  apples 
in  their  presence.  Cousin  Sylvia  hates  it.  She  says  that 
when  I  eat  an  apple  I  make  a  noise  like  a  cow  chewing. 
You  are  not  attached  to  the  Court  in  any  way,  are  you, 
Miss  Schatzie?" 

"Your  Highness  has  guessed  correctly." 

"Whom  have  you  come  to  see?" 

"Princess  Sylvia." 

"O-o-oh !"  The  little  lad's  apple  almost  dropped  from 
his  jaw.  "Dear  me,  I  hope  you  won't  repeat  what  I  have 
said  to  you  about  not  liking  her." 

"I  have  already  forgotten  what  you  said  in  that  re- 
gard." 

The  little  prince  regarded  Alice  gravely. 

"That's  the  sort  of  answer  Cousin  Ulrich  gives  me," 
he  said.    "I  shall  have  to  tell  Cousin  Ulrich  about  you, 


256  THE    GREATER    JOY 

because  you're  clever,  and  Cousin  Ulrich  says  clever 
people  are  very  scarce,  particularly  at  Hohenhof-Hohe." 

"How  do  you  know  that  I  am  clever  ?" 

"If  you  weren't,  you  would  have  said,  'Why  do  you 
think  I  am  clever?'  You  see,  you're  not  afraid  to  own 
your  cleverness." 

The  child's  penetration  amazed  the  girl. 

"Who  taught  you  to  make  such  fine  distinctions  ?"  she 
asked. 

"Cousin  Ulrich,  of  course.  What  the  others  teach  me 
is  tommyrot.  I  learn  more  in  five-minutes'  talk  from 
Cousin  Ulrich  than  in  five  days  from  all  the  others  put 
together.  To  be  honest  with  you,  I  heard  Cousin  Ulrich 
make  that  very  distinction  one  day.  I  merely  remem- 
bered it.  When  I  am  grown-up,  I  am  going  to  study 
medicine  and  be  a  famous  doctor  like  Cousin  Ulrich." 

"And  who  is  to  reign  over  this  country?" 

"Oh,  the  ministers  of  State  and  of  the  Interior  and  the 
old  Hofmarschall  and  Freifrau  von  Schwellenberg.  My 
grandfather  says  it  doesn't  require  any  brains  to  rule, 
merely  manners,  a  set  of  figure-heads  and  enough  money 
to  stable  them.  But  Cousin  Ulrich  says  that  is  not  so. 
You  haven't  asked  me  why  I  don't  like  Cousin  Sylvia?" 

"No,  and  I  don't  intend  to." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  it's  none  of  my  business. 

"I  think  I'll  tell  you,  nevertheless." 

"I  would  prefer  not  to  have  you  tell  me." 

"But  if  I  insist?" 

"I  am  sure  your  Highness  is  too  much  of  a  gentleman 
to  force  his  confidence  on  some  one  who  does  not  de- 
sire it." 

"Now  that  again  is  like  Cousin  Ulrich.  You're  very 
different  from  the  rest.     If  I  had  told  any  of  the  other 


THE    GREATER    JOY  257 

ladies  that  I  didn't  like  Sylvia,  they'd  have  had  me  on 
their  lap,  and  would  have  kissed  me  and  cuddled  me  and 
chucked  me  under  the  chin  and  called  me  'suesser  kleiner 
Erbprins/  and  even  if  I  hated  their  kissing  me  more  than 
I  do,  I  wouldn't  have  told  them  in  a  hundred  years,  not 
even  to  get  rid  of  them.  But  I  want  to  tell  you,  because 
you  are  different,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  think  me  a 
sneaking,  horrid  little  boy  for  saying  I  don't  care  for  my 
cousin." 

"Well,  then,  supposing  you  tell  me." 

"Thank  you  for  allowing  me,"  said  Eitel  Egon.  "I 
don't  like  Sylvia  because  she  fibs  all  the  time.  She  pre- 
tends to  like  people  whom  she  detests,  because  they  can 
be  of  use  to  her.    Oh,  I  know,  I  know " 

"Your  Highness  is  very  indiscreet  to  say  a  thing  of 
that  sort  to  a  friend  of  the  Princess's." 

"Oh,  dear,  now  you  do  think  me  a  horrid,  sneaking  lit- 
tle boy,  after  all." 

"No,"  said  Alice,  "I  think  you  a  very  charming,  fool- 
ish, talkative  little  boy." 

The  little  lad  stood  stock-still,  and  regarded  Alice  fix- 
edly. Tears  of  mortification  stood  in  his  eyes,  and  his 
lips  twitched  with  anger.  His  resemblance  to  Ulrich 
was  extraordinary. 

"I  ought  to  hate  you  for  saying  I  am  foolish  and  talka- 
tive," he  said,  "but  I  don't.  I  like  you  even  better  than 
before.  But  please  don't  say  anything  to  hurt  me  again. 
If — if — I  displease  you,  just  tell  me  nicely,  but  don't  say 
anything  that  hurts." 

Ulrich  passed  the  open  door  at  this  moment. 

"Egon,  I  have  been  looking  for  you  everywhere." 

"Cousin  Ulrich,  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  the  sweet- 
est lady  in  the  world." 

"What,    sweeter   even   than   the   miller's   daughter?" 


258  THE    GREATER    JOY 

asked  Ulrich  meaningly,   feigning  great   astonishment. 

"Don't  tease  me,  Cousin  Ulrich !  Ah,  you  are  laugh- 
ing at  me — both  of  you — you  have  met  before." 

The  child  looked  so  disappointed  that  Alice,  with  a 
quick,  maternal  gesture,  put  out  her  arm,  and  encircling 
the  child's  shoulder,  drew  him  toward  her. 

"You're  not  going  to  be  angry  with  me,  little  Prince 
Joachim  Eduard  Alfons  Georg  Eitel  Egon,  are  you?" 

"You  had  heard  all  my  names  before,  too,"  said  the 
child,  reproachfully.  "You  couldn't  have  remembered 
them  from  hearing  them  once  only." 

"You're  a  public  character,  you  know,"  said  Alice  coax- 
ingly.     "Won't  you  forgive  me?" 

The  child  smiled. 

"I  forgive  you,"  he  said  quite  gravely.  "And  if  youi 
wish,  Miss  Schatzie,  you  may  kiss  me." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

The  night  of  the  first  Court  ball  of  the  season,  at  which 
Alice  was  to  make  her  first  bow  to  the  entire  Court, 
finally  arrived.  She  entered  the  ballroom  in  Sylvia's 
suite.  Sylvia  had  "commanded"  the  arm  of  one  of  Ul- 
rich's  aides,  Lieutenant  von  Hollen,  "the  second  wicked- 
est man  in  the  kingdom,  my  dear/'  according  to  Sylvia's 
description,  the  doubtful  distinction  of  being  the  wicked- 
est man  going  to  Ulrich.  Sylvia's  ladies-in-waiting  had 
each  an  officer  of  the  Life  Guards  as  an  escort,  Frau  von 
Schwellenberg  a  Cuirassier,  and  Alice  a  Black  Hussar, 
whom  she  had  never  seen  before,  and  whose  name  was 
quite  impossible  to  remember. 

Although  she  had  read  Thackeray's  "The  Four 
Georges,"  by  this  time  she  knew  enough  of  Court  eti- 
quette and  the  Court  personnel  not  to  expect  to  see  the 
ladies  bring  their  knitting  to  a  Court  ball,  she  was  wholly 
unprepared  for  the  magnificent  scene  which  the  ball- 
room presented. 

The  hall  itself  was  very  lavishly  decorated  with  much 
stucco  work  and  many  gilt  Cupids  hovering  among  natu- 
ral tinted,  elaborately  designed  foliage  and  flowers.  The 
hangings  and  upholstery  were  all  in  pale  blue  velvet  with 
deep  fringes  of  gold.  The  royal  "D"  was  blazoned 
everywhere — on  chairs,  on  settees,  on  the  blue  velvet 
curtains  that  screened  the  enormously  high  and  wide  win- 
dows, and  the  splendid  uniforms  of  the  officers,  the  pale- 
tinted  gowns,  the  glistening  shoulders  and  gleaming 
arms  of  the  women  added  to  the  brilliance  of  the  scene. 

259 


260  THE    GREATER   JOY 

Princess  Sylvia  took  her  place  upon  a  small  raised 
dais — very  slightly  raised,  only — at  the  extreme  end  of 
the  room,  upon  which  stood  two  prodigiously  ornamental 
chairs.  Immediately  her  little  party  was  surrounded  by 
a  buzzing  lot  of  young  and  youngish  officers,  all  very 
magnificent  in  gold  lace  and  full  dress  uniforms.  Alice 
did  not  even  attempt  to  remember  their  names.  She 
found  to  her  surprise  that  her  dance-card  was  not  to  be 
filled  for  her,  but  that  she  was  at  liberty  to  dispose  of  her 
dances  as  she  chose.  That  was  something  of  a  novelty. 
She  rather  liked  it. 

Suddenly  a  hush  fell  upon  the  room.  Ulrich  had  en- 
tered with  his  two  aides  at  his  side,  von  Hollen  and  von 
Garde.  Both  of  the  aides  were,  of  course,  in  full  dress, 
and  von  Garde  looked  wonderfully  handsome.  But  Alice 
gave  him  a  mere  glance.  It  was  not  for  him  that  her 
heart  was  beating  so  madly.  Ulrich  claimed  her  undi- 
vided attention.  He  wore  the  simple  court  dress  af- 
fected by  civilians  and  men  of  a  rank  so  high,  like  him- 
self, that  the  choice  between  uniform  or  Escarpins,  the 
black  satin  knee  breeches  of  court  dress,  rested  entirely 
with  themselves.  Upon  his  breast  glittered  a  multitude  of 
orders.  The  splendidly  uniformed  young  officers  seemed 
a  mere  gorgeous  background  for  the  stately,  distinguished 
figure  in  black  walking  between  them. 

The  young  men  in  the  room  had  swarmed  about  Syl- 
via's entourage.  Conversely  every  woman  in  the  room, 
so  it  seemed  to  Alice's  bewildered  eyes,  seemed  to 
drift  toward  Ulrich's  group.  A  sudden  jealousy  sprang 
up  in  her.  Was  the  woman,  the  married  woman  with 
whom  Ulrich  had  had  a  liaison  the  previous  season,  pres- 
ent?    If  so,  would  she  attract  him,  hold  his  attention? 

Ulrich,  she  saw,  had  disengaged  himself  from  a  cluster 
of  ladies  who  had  almost  encircled  him  and  his  two  aides, 


THE    GREATER    JOY  261 

and  stood  apart  with  a  very  smartly  gowned  woman  of 
about  thirty,  with  whom  he  continued  speaking  with  the 
air  of  languid  indifference  which  he  habitually  wore  in 
public.  The  lady  was  slight  in  build,  fair,  very  vivacious 
and  had  the  grand  air  which  Alice  had  admired  so  much 
in  Sylvia.  She  had  very  much  manner.  The  girl  felt 
that  she  admired  her  immensely  and  would  like  to  know 
her. 

"Who  is  the  lady  with  whom  Prince  Ulrich  is  speak- 
ing?" she  asked  of  Fraeulein  von  Hornung. 

"That — oh,  Baroness  von  Hess."  Fraeulein  von  Hor- 
nung discreetly  lowered  her  voice.  "She  was  the 
Prince's  favorite  last  year.  She  would  very  much  like 
to  win  him  back,  so  some  folks  say,  but  I  do  not  believe 

it.     She  had  too  narrow  an  escape  last  year,  when " 

Suddenly  interrupting  herself,  the  voluble  little  lady-in- 
waiting  exclaimed :  "Good  heavens !  What  is  the  matter 
with  you,  Miss  Vaughn?  Your  cheeks  are  crimson. 
Really,  you  Americans  are  too  ridiculously  straight-laced ! 
To  blush  like  that  merely  because  a  mail's  failings  are 
mentioned.  Didn't  you  know  the  Prince  was  that  sort  of 
a  man?" 

"I  had  heard  as  much,"  Alice  managed  to  say  quite 
placidly. 

Fraeulein  von  Hornung  gave  her  a  searching  look. 

"Poor  thing,"  she  thought,  "at  least  I  have  warned  her 
against  him." 

"What  sort  of  a  woman  is  this  Baroness  von  Hess?" 
Alice  presently  asked. 

"A  very  clever  woman,  really  a  very  nice,  charming, 
good-hearted  soul.  She  is  very  popular  with  everybody. 
Don't  you  admire  her  manner?" 

"Immensely,"  said  Alice  honestly,  though  her  heart 
was  beating  fast. 


£62  THE    GREATER    JOY 

*There  is  such  a  funny  little  story  connected  with  the 
Baroness  and  the  Prince,"  the  lady-in-waiting  continued. 
"Baron  von  Hess  came  home  late  one  evening " 

"I  have  heard  the  story,"  Alice  coldly  interrupted  the 
recital. 

"And  don't  you  think  it  funny  ?" 

"Very." 

The  girl  turned  her  head  away.  Ulrich  had  left  the 
Baroness  and  was  slowly  making  his  way  across  the 
room  to  their  group.  It  would  be  intolerable,  she 
thought,  to  have  to  speak  to  him  now,  to  even  meet  him. 
Sweet  heavens!  Would  people  next  year  be  saying  of 
her,  "She  was  the  Prince's  favorite  last  season?" 

"Herr  Adjutant,"  she  hurriedly  addressed  von  Garde, 
"is  it  permitted  to  stroll  about  the  room?" 

"You — certainly.  Only  the  ladies-in-waiting  are  ex- 
pected to  remain  with  the  Princess.    May  I  escort  you?" 

They  walked  off  together  just  as  Ulrich  came  up  from 
the  other  side  of  the  room.  Alice  saw  a  look  of  annoy- 
ance cross  his  face,  but  she  pretended  stonily  not  to  see 
him.  It  steadied  her  nerves  considerably  to  be  walking 
along  with  this  exceedingly  complacent,  handsome,  well- 
bred  young  man.  He  seemed  to  be  a  great  favorite  with 
the  women,  judging  from  the  ingratiating  smiles  that 
greeted  him  everywhere.  Alice  remembered  that  he  was 
considered  "die  grosse  Partie"  of  Hohenhof-Hohe,  and 
that  his  fortune  as  well  as  his  rank  and  his  personal 
character  made  him  the  most  eligible  young  man  in  the 
kingdom. 

Suddenly  she  became  aware  of  a  small,  smirking  man 
bearing  down  upon  them.  He  had  a  cast  in  his  eye,  and 
he  lurched  as  he  walked. 

"Who  is  that  Rigoletto-like  creature?"  she  asked  of 
von  Garde. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  263 

"Mercy  me!"  said  von  Garde.  "Our  Hofmarschall. 
Now,  Miss  Vaughn,  if  you  were  other  than  you  are,  I 
would  say  to  you,  'Beware.'  For  any  secret,  personal 
or  on  matters  of  state,  that  a  newcomer  possesses,  that 
little  person  will  try  to  ferret  out.  There  is,  of  course,  no 
occasion  to  give  you  such  advice.  You  need  not  mind 
his  meddlesomeness  or  his  malice."  Addressing  the  man, 
he  said:  "Herr  Hofmarschall,  good  evening!" 

The  old,  hunched  figure,  with  the  small  mouse-eyes, 
halted. 

"Herr  Adjutant"  he  whimpered,  "will  you  not  in- 
troduce me  to  the  fair  American  about  whom  everyone  is 
roving?" 

"Miss  Vaughn,  I  have  the  pleasure  of  presenting  our 
admirable  Master  of  Ceremonies,  Freiherr  von  Bar- 
dolph." 

"Known  as  the  man  with  the  kind  heart  and  the 
wicked  tongue,"  smiled  the  Hofmarschall,  completing  the 
introduction. 

"I  always  thought  it  was  the  reverse,"  said  von 
Garde  laughing — "the  man  with  the  wicked  heart  and 
the  kind  tongue." 

"Tut,  tut,  do  not  believe  him,  Miss  Vaughn."  The 
Hofmarschall  was  ready  to  catalogue  his  virtues  right 
there,  but  von  Garde  cut  him  off  brusquely. 

"Miss  Vaughn,  I  give  the  Hofmarschall  just  ten  min- 
utes' time  to  practise  his  Mephistophelian  arts  on  you — 
then  I  return  to  rescue  you  from  his  clutches." 

He  bowed,  and  clicking  his  heels,  turned  and  was 
gone.  Alice's  eyes  looked  after  him.  Laughter  was  on 
her  lips,  a  burden  was  lifted  from  her  heart.  What  a 
fine,  frank  specimen  of  a  man  he  was!  Again  she  en- 
vied the  woman  he  would  love  and  make  his  wife,  and 
she  wished  that   she  might  have  loved  such  a  man — 


264  THE    GREATER    JOY 

candidly,  openly.  She  blushed  and  turned  to  von  Bar- 
dolph,  whose  little  mouse-eyes  were  riveted  on  her  face. 
Perhaps  he  thought  her  in  love  with  von  Garde.  So 
much  the  better. 

"Do  you  find  your  first  Court  ball  entertaining,  Miss 
Vaughn?" 

"Very." 

"You  are  in  an  enviable  position.  The  duties  of  a 
lady-in-waiting  are  something  of  a  bore.  Not  being  at- 
tached to  our  little  Court  in  any  official  capacity,  you 
are  free  as  the  air  to  do  as  you  like,  because  of  your 
friendship  with " 

The  Hofmarschall,  whose  lungs  were  as  sound  as 
leather,  here  unaccountably  developed  a  cough. 

"Princess  Sylvia,"  said  Alice  quickly.  "What  a  dis- 
agreeable little  cough  you  have,  Herr  Hofmarschali!" 

"Curious,  you  are  the  second  person  to  comment  upon 
my  cough.  Prince  Ulrich  also  was  gracious  enough  t<p 
remark  it." 

"And  offered,  I  suppose,  to  cure  you  of  it  ?"  She  came 
to  a  dead  stop,  adding,  as  if  in  afterthought,  "in  his  ca- 
pacity of  physician,  I  mean." 

The  old  man  smiled  in  sheer  delight  at  her  deftness 
in  paying  him  back,  and  at  her  courage  in  daring  to  show 
him  so  plainly  that  she  understood  his  innuendo.  With 
the  swiftness  of  a  swordsman  who  has  recognized  a 
worthy  adversary,  he  decided  to  use  his  utmost  skill  to 
foil  her  in  the  duel  of  wits  in  which  they  had  engaged. 
She  was  quick-witted,  keen,  had  courage.  It  were  false 
delicacy  to  spare  her. 

"You  know  then  that  His  Highness  is  an  eminent  phy- 
sician ?" 

"Certainly,  it  was  in  a  hospital  that  I  first  met  the 
Prince  and  Princess." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  265 

"His  Highness  excels  in  many  respects,  not  merely  in 
medicine." 

"So  I  find.  Everybody  seems  so  anxious  to  discuss 
him."     She  smiled  roguishly. 

"She  is  adorable,"  thought  the  Hofmarschall.  "I  do 
not  wonder  at  Ulrich's  infatuation." 

"We  are  very  proud  of  him,"  the  Hofmarschall  con- 
tinued. "Just  look  at  him  now,  standing  there  between 
his  aides,  von  Garde  and  von  Hollen,  a  very  wild  young 
man,  my  dear  young  lady,  but  very  popular  with  the  la- 
dies." 

"They  usually  are,  aren't  they?"  Alice  summoned  a 
look  of  most  sublime  innocence. 

"It  is  a  little  vanity  of  the  Prince's  to  surround  him- 
self with  men  as  fair  as  he  is  dark,"  continued  the  Hof- 
marschall, "as  a  proper  foil  for  his  own  handsome,  aris- 
tocratic person.  We,  his  loving  subjects,  pretend  not 
to  notice  this  little  eccentricity.  So  you,  too,  Miss 
Vaughn,  must  not  betray  what  I  have  told  you,  but  must 
feign  blindness  in  this  respect." 

"I  shall  certainly  not  betray  your  confidence,  Herr 
Hofmarschall/'  said  Alice  gravely. 

She  laughed.  It  was  a  delicious,  full-throated,  bird- 
like sort  of  a  laugh,  and  the  Hofmarschall,  crabbed,  vix- 
enish and  furious  with  her  though  he  was  for  being  so 
beautiful  and  self-possessed,  could  not  help  but  laugh 
also. 

"It  was  rather  unkind  of  you  to  tell  me,  though,"  Alice 
continued.  "If  you  had  allowed  me  to  discover  this  van- 
ity of  the  Prince's  by  myself,  I  should  have  been  at  liberty 
to  tease  him  about  it,  as  I  am  not  one  of  his  loving  sub- 
jects." 

She  stressed  the  word  "loving"  ever  so  lightly.  The 
Hofmarschall s  mouse-eyes  squinted  ominously.  He  said : 


266  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"They  are  the  three  handsomest  men  in  the  kingdom, 
Miss  Vaughn." 

With  polite  indifference,  she  replied : 

"A  good-looking  trio,  surely." 

He  went  on : 

"Do  you  admire  fair  men,  or  dark  men,  Miss  Vaughn  ? 
Men  of  haughty  and  commanding  presence,  a  little  sin- 
ister even,  or  fair  men,  with  eyes  of  innocent  blue,  and 
laughter  in  their  hearts,  sunshine  upon  their  faces  and 
honey  upon  their  lips  ?" 

Alice  began  to  feel  distinctly  nervous.  The  dia- 
bolical old  creature  was  carrying  things  too  far. 

She  answered,  a  shade  of  arrogance  in  her  voice*: 

"I  am  hardly  prepared  to  answer.  You'll  find  me 
rather  provincial,  I'm  afraid,  Herr  Hofmarschall.  I've 
been  brought  up  to  think  it  rather  indelicate  for  young 
women  to  discuss  types  of  men,  fair,  dark  or  medium,  as 
if  they  were  roans,  or  chestnuts,  or  bays." 

"That's  rather  a  pretty  sentiment,  at  any  rate,"  said 
the  Hofmarschall  approvingly.  "I'm  not  at  all  certain 
that  a  little  delicacy  injected  into  our  life  at  Court  would 
not  be  a  good  thing.  Do  you  know  much  of  court  re- 
gime ?" 

"Very  little,  Herr  Hofmarschall.  Only  this,  that  royal 
personages,  as  far  as  I  can  judge,  seem  anxious  to  out- 
shine their  environment  in  one  particular  only — breeding 
— and  that  royal  personages  of  either  sex,  in  marrying  a 
commoner,  contract  a  morganatic  marriage  only,  as  a 
rule." 

"Princess  Sylvia  has  coached  you?" 

"Very  little,  as  you  see.  I  expect  you  to  coach  me  a 
good  deal  more.  You  seem  such  a  subtle,  clever  per- 
son." 

The  Hofmarschall  almost  winced.     The  audacity  this 


THE    GREATER    JOY  267 

young-  American  person  displayed  by  her  patronizing 
tone  amazed  him. 

"Princess  Sylvia  may  wish  to  take  you  in  hand  her- 
self," he  said  stiffly. 

"Princess  Sylvia  and  I  usually  have  more  interesting 
topics  to  talk  about,"  she  replied  loftily.  "But  I  imag- 
ine it  is  a  fertile  subject  for  two  persons  who  have  little 
in  common.  I  am  sure  you  and  I  will  come  back  to  it, 
Herr  Hofmarschall." 

"The  devil!"  thought  the  Hofmarschall.  "What  a 
vixen !    I  wish  Ulrich  joy  of  her." 

"Princess  Sylvia  and  you  seem  to  be  on  very  intimate 
terms,"  he  said  significantly. 

Quickly  she  retorted: 

"The  Princess  was  so  gracious  as  to  establish  our 
friendship  on  a  very  democratic  footing." 

"The  Princess,"  went  on  the  Hofmarschall,  "makes  an 
excellent  friend,  but  when  she  turns,  if  she  turns,  she 
changes  into  an  implacable  enemy." 

Alice  laughed. 

"I  hardly  think,"  she  said,  "that  an  obscure,  insignifi- 
cant little  American  like  myself  will  ever  have  occasion 
to  inspire  the  Princess  with  an  implacable  hatred." 

"Beauty  such  as  yours  is  never  insignificant." 

The  Hofmarschall  bowed  obsequiously. 

"Do  you  know,  Herr  Hofmarschall,  since  I  came  to 
Hohenhof-Hohe  four  weeks  ago,  I  have  heard  more 
comments  upon  my  'beauty'  than  I  heard  in  America  all 
my  life?" 

"Our  men  are  presumably  more  gallant  than  yours," 
suggested  the  Hofmarschall. 

"Or  our  women  more  beautiful." 

At  that  moment  von  Garde  appeared. 

"Time's  up,  Herr  Hofmarschall/' 


268  THE    GREATER    JOY 

The  Hofmarschall  bowed  and  withdrew.  Ulrich  came 
across  the  room  to  meet  her.  All  eyes  were  riveted  upon 
him  and  upon  her,  as  making  her  a  perfunctory  little 
bow,  which  seemed  meagre  and  shallow  after  the  obse- 
quious genuflections  of  the  other  men,  he  asked  her  to 
open  the  ball  with  him. 

"Please  ask  some  one  else,  Ulrich,  dear.  I  am  a  little 
nervous." 

"I  do  not  see  why  you  should  be.  You  are  not  only 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  room,  but  you  are  wear- 
ing the  smartest  frock  as  well.  Where  did  you  get  that 
gown,  Paquin's?" 

"Yes.  That  is  the  gown  you  wanted  to  slash  into 
ribbons  with  your  whip." 

"What  an  act  of  vandalism  that  would  have  been!" 

Both  laughed  in  recollection  of  the  episode.  Lower- 
ing his  voice,  his  eyes  became  eloquent. 

"Be  nice  to  me,  dearest,"  he  pleaded.  "Walk  through 
the  room  with  me,  to  where  Sylvia  is  sitting,  and  when 
you  have  seen  the  envy  of  every  woman  because  you 
are  on  Prince  Ulrich's  arm,  you  will  be  quite  willing,  I 
think,  to  open  the  ball  with  him." 

Smiling,  she  placed  her  hand  on  his  arm.  A  tremor 
passed  through  her  body.  He  noticed  it,  and  looked 
down  at  her  tenderly. 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  betray  myself,  Ulrich,  if  I  dance 
with  you." 

"Nonsense !  But  be  careful.  Don't  call  me  by  my  first 
name  in  public,  even  if  we  are  apparently  alone.  The 
pillars  and  posts  have  ears  here." 

As  is  frequently  the  case  before  dancing  has  started, 
all  the  people  in  the  room  seemed  to  be  congregated  in 
one  part  of  the  hall.  As  Alice  and  Ulrich  approached 
this  crowded  corner,  they  both  became  silent.    They  were 


THE    GREATER    JOY  269 

the  cynosure  of  all  eyes,  and  indeed,  it  would  have  been 
difficult  to  conceive  a  more  charming  couple,  he  so  lan- 
guidly aristocratic  and  assured,  she  so  dazzlingly  fair,  ra- 
diant and  lovely.  Happily  Alice  was  unaware  of  the 
attention  and  comment  they  were  exciting.  She  had 
caught  sight  of  Baroness  von  Hess,  who  was  speaking 
with  three  gentlemen,  and  she  felt  herself  impelled  by 
she  knew  not  what  inward  force,  to  look  at  her  again 
and  again.  The  Baroness,  on  the  other  hand,  did  not 
pay  her  the  compliment  of  even  glancing  at  her.  En- 
tirely complacent  and  unconscious,  she  continued  her 
conversation  with  her  three  friends. 

Alice's  blood  became  turbulent.  She  had  the  sensa- 
tion of  becoming  frightfully  pale.  What  a  woman 
this  Madame  von  Hess  was!  What  a  magnificent  air! 
Would  she,  similarly  situated,  be  able  to  carry  herself 
with  such  capital  unconcern?  Was  it  possible  that  Ul- 
rich,  having  once  loved  that  woman,  should  not  some- 
times think  of  her  with  regret,  with  longing?  She  re- 
membered that  before  she  came  away  with  him,  he  had 
told  her  very  frankly  that  he  would  not  be  able  to  get 
through  three  or  four  months  without  the  love  of  some 
woman.  If  she  had  not  come  away  with  him,  would  he 
then,  have  gone  back  to  Madame  Hess?  Good  heav- 
ens!   would    he    not   go    back   to    her   one    day    even 


now 


? 


Alice  had  noted  each  perfect  detail  that  went  to  the 
making  of  the  charming  gown  worn  by  the  woman  who 
suddenly  loomed  before  her  feverish  imagination  as  a 
rival.  Her  own  was  as  good.  Ulrich  had  pronounced  it 
superior,  since  he  had  told  her  that  hers  was  the  smart- 
est frock  present.  But  whereas  this  was  her  only  ball 
gown,  she  was  quite  certain  that  the  wardrobe  of  the 
Baroness   was    well-stocked    with   a    multitude   of   ball 


270  THE    GREATER    JOY 

dresses  quite  as  rich  and  attractive  as  that  which  adorned 
the  Baroness's  lively  little  person  at  the  present  mo- 
ment. It  had  never  occurred  to  her  before  that  she  coul'd 
not  appear  again  and  again  in  the  same  ball  dress,  no 
matter  how  beautiful  and  lavish.  The  question  of  clothes 
suddenly  assumed  horrible  proportions.  And  then  the 
irritatingly  polished  manner  of  this  woman.  She  her- 
self had  no  manner  whatever.  It  seemed  impossible  to 
her  that  Ulrich  would  not  draw  comparisons  between 
them  which  would  result  disastrously  for  herself.  She 
hoped  and  prayed  that  she  and  the  Baroness  would  not 
meet  face  to  face  that  evening.  The  Baroness  would  no- 
tice her  agitation,  and  it  would  be  an  easy  matter  for 
such  a  finished  woman  of  the  world  to  humiliate  her. 
She  would  never  be  able  to  cope  as  successfully  with 
her,  with  some  one  of  her  own  sex,  as  she  had  coped  with 
the  Hofmarschall. 

One  poor  little  drop  of  consolation  remained.  She  was 
far  more  beautiful  than  the  Baroness.  On  this  point 
comparison  was  colossally  in  her  favor.  It  was  not  van- 
ity that  told  her  this,  for  she  was  living  through  one  of 
those  sinister  moments  of  self-realization  when  no  soft, 
self-satisfied  estimate  that  a  woman  may  previously  have 
entertained  of  herself  will  avail  her.  And  now  that  she 
passed  close  by  the  Baroness,  she  was  surprised  to  find 
that  she  was  not  only  not  beautiful,  but  almost  homely. 
Her  features  were  compressed  and  flat,  giving  her  face  a 
heavy,  commonplace  expression  when  in  repose.  When 
she  spoke  an  undercurrent  of  charm  became  apparent, 
and  veiled  her  homeliness.  But  suddenly,  almost  with  a 
shock,  Alice  remembered  the  words  Ulrich  had  spoken  of 
the  fascination  which  a  homely  woman  may  exert  upon 
a  man  of  fertile  imagination  because  of  her  homeliness, 
not  in  spite  of  it.     And  to  her  tortured  and  contorted 


THE    GREATER    JOY  271 

fancy  it  was  a  foregone  conclusion  that  the  Baroness 
must  have  inspired  those  words. 

Her  preoccupation  with  these  sombre  reflections  had 
one  palpable  advantage.  She  walked  down  and  around 
that  vast  ballroom  on  the  arm  of  her  lover  wholly  ob- 
livious of  the  insolent  and  curious  glances  bestowed  on 
her  by  men  and  women  alike,  and  her  suffering,  which 
seemed  to  freeze  the  blood  in  her  veins,  gave  her  out- 
wardly more  of  a  semblance  of  that  coldly  detached  man- 
ner which  she  so  admired  and  coveted,  than  she  had  ever 
shown  before. 

Ulrich  was  delighted  with  the  impression  he  saw  she 
was  creating.  He  did  not  dare  as  much  as  glance  at  her 
for  fear  of  showing  his  delight  and  tenderness,  his  pride, 
his  love. 

"What  a  bearing  she  has!"  he  thought,  and  he  won- 
dered he  had  never  remarked  it  before. 

Because  of  her  bearing  and  cold  aloofness,  two  fac- 
tions began  immediately  to  form  that  very  evening.  The 
one  faction  saw  in  her  a  cold-blooded,  calculating  adven- 
turess, who,  for  very  obvious  worldly  advantages  had 
entered  into  or  was  aspiring  to  a  liaison  with  the  Prince. 
The  other  faction,  all  signs  to  the  contrary,  refused  to 
believe  her  culpable,  declaring  that  a  woman  so  appar- 
ently calm  and  composed  could  not  be  otherwise  than 
virtuous. 

Ulrich  led  Alice  to  the  little  dais  on  which  sat  Princess 
Sylvia. 

"Miss  Vaughn  refuses  to  dance  the  first  dance  with 
me,"  he  complained. 

"Alice  is  quite  right,"  replied  the  Princess  in  a  low 
voice.  "I  am  surprised  at  your  asking  her.  You  know 
it  would  compromise  her,  and  you  will  kindly  remember 
she  is  here  as  my  friend.    You'll  have  to  ask  either  Coun- 


272  THE    GREATER    JOY 

tess  Oily,  or  Excellenz  von  Garde.  I  believe  no  woman 
of  higher  rank  is  present.  Do  see  the  Hofmarschall  and 
get  him  to  arrange  the  thing  properly.  You  know  what 
a  fuss  and  pother  a  faux  pas  occasions,  especially  at  the 
first  ball  of  the  season." 

Ulrich  obediently  sent  for  the  Hofmarschall,  and  the 
two  gentlemen  discussed  the  momentous  question  with 
the  utmost  gravity  for  upward  of  two  minutes.  Alice's 
sense  of  humor  had  been  awakened  by  the  absurd  little 
episode,  which  was  helping  her  to  forget  the  Baroness. 

Sylvia  smiled  at  Alice,  who  was  standing  quite  near 
the  chair  on  which  the  Princess  sat,  and  asked  her 
whether  the  ball  was  going  to  bore  her  very  much.  As 
the  other  chair  on  the  dais  was  not  occupied — it  was  a 
huge,  gilded,  comfort-promising  affair — Alice,  in  reply- 
ing, seated  herself  on  it.  Instantly  a  ripple  of  laughter 
bubbled  from  Sylvia's  lips,  and  Ulrich,  who  returned 
from  his  weighty  conference  with  the  Hofmarschall  at 
the  moment,  also  tried  to  control  his  merriment. 

"What  is  the  joke?"  demanded  Alice.  "Have  I  made 
some  faux  pas?"  She  mimicked  Sylvia  ever  so  lightly 
as  she  employed  the  phrase  which  was  one  to  which  the 
Princess  was  partial.  But  the  Princess  was  helpless  with 
laughter,  and  Ulrich  was  struggling  manfully  to  retain  a 
dignified  aspect.  Everybody  was  looking  at  them, 
hugely  amused. 

Suddenly  the  truth  dawned  on  the  girl. 

"I  shouldn't  have  sat  on  that  chair,"  she  said.  "It's 
the  throne,  or  something,  isn't  it  ?"  She,  too,  was  laugh- 
ing now.  "How  could  I  know?  I  thought  thrones 
didn't  exist  nowadays  excepting  in  Hamlet,  King  John 
and  old  plays  like  that." 

Not  wishing  to  rise  abruptly,  she  dropped  her  kerchief 
to  the  floor,  and  arose,  pretending  to  stoop  for  it.    But 


THE    GREATER    JOY  273 

Ulrich  had  already  picked  it  up  for  her,  and  was  offer- 
ing it  with  the  same  perfunctory,  stiff  little  bow  as  before. 

"Thank  you,  Prince.  Isn't  that  a  violation  of  Court 
etiquette — to  stoop  for  a  commoner?" 

"It  is  never  a  violation  of  etiquette  to  render  a  service 
to  a  pretty  woman — though  she  is  an  American  and  takes 
possession  of  the  throne  of  my  ancestors  with  high- 
handed violence." 

His  eyes  were  brimful  of  love.  Sylvia  bent  forward, 
and  whispered  to  him  so  that  Alice  might  not  hear : 

"Careful,  Ulrich.  Your  eyes  literally  blaze  when  you 
look  at  her.    Everybody  is  watching  you." 

Several  gentlemen  grouped  themselves  about  Sylvia. 
She  arose  and  asked  one  of  them  to  escort  her  around 
the  room.  It  was  a  great  compliment  to  the  young  offi- 
cer whom  she  had  selected,  and  he  beamed  with  joy.  At 
that  moment  a  young,  a  very  young  officer  in  the  uni- 
form of  a  lieutenant  of  the  Black  Hussars  came  up.  A 
quick  glance  passed  between  him  and  Sylvia. 

The  Princess  touched  Alice's  arm  with  her  fan. 

"Miss  Vaughn,"  she  said,  "my  cousin,  Prince  Gunther, 
desires  to  be  presented  to  you." 

Alice  remembered  seeing  his  picture.  He  resembled 
Ulrich  enough  to  be  his  younger  brother. 

Sylvia  had  left  them,  and  the  young  Prince,  with  a 
dazzling  smile,  made  her  the  same  stiff,  perfunctory  lit- 
tle bow  that  Ulrich  had  bestowed  upon  her.  The  girl 
surmised  that  that  bogey,  Court  etiquette,  applied  the 
yardstick  to  the  very  bows  of  princes.  Respectfully  he 
said: 

"Will  you  accept  my  arm  for  a  little  stroll?" 

"Thank  you." 

As  they  walked  off  together,  he  said  in  an  honest,, 
boyish,  straightforward  sort  of  way: 


274  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"I  want  a  good  long  talk  with  you,  Miss  Vaughn.  I 
hope  we  are  going  to  be  good  friends." 

"That's  very  amiable  of  your  Highness/'  Alice  re- 
torted warily. 

'"Don't  you  think  I  resemble  my  cousin  Ulrich?"  he 
asked,  as  she  thought,  irrelevantly. 

"Immensely,"  she  replied. 

"Ah,  then  you  will  like  me,"  he  said  with  considerable 
assurance. 

For  one  moment  Alice  was  dazed  by  the  young  prince's 
audacity,  then  boldly  she  said : 

"I  do  not  see  that  your  resemblance  to  your  cousin 
constitutes  a  reason  for  my  liking  you  any  more  than 
that  your  resemblance  to  the  Prince  makes  you  witty  be- 
cause he  is  witty,  or  that  his  resemblance  to  you  makes 
him  impertinent." 

Prince  Gunther  shook  with  laughter. 

"You  must  think  me  a  cad,  Miss  Vaughn,"  he  said. 
"Allow  me  to  explain.  But  first  of  all,  I  am  going  to  take 
you  into  my  confidence." 

"I  am  not  aware,"  Alice  replied  coldly,  "that  I  have 
given  you  any  reason  for  believing  that  your  confidence 
would  be  welcome." 

No,  you  have  not.  But  you  know  the  saying,  'When 
in  Rome,  do  as  the  Romans  do.'  And  since  you  have 
elected  to  live  among  us  you  might  have  the  grace  to  fall 
in  with  our  customs,  one  of  which  permits  royalty  to 
make  confidences  when  and  where  it  chooses." 

"I  believe,"  Alice  said  ironically,  "that  your  resem- 
blance to  your  cousin  is  more  than  skin-deep,  after 
all." 

Gunther  laughed. 

"Now  for  the  confidence.  You  must  know,  Miss 
Vaughn,  that  Sylvia  and  I  are  in  love  with  each  other. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  275 

Oh,  come  now,  Miss  Vaughn,  be  a  good  fellow,  and  don't 
try  to  overawe  me.  We'll  all  be  cousins  some  day — you, 
Sylvia  and  I,  so  why  not  be  friends  now  f* 

This  startling  communication,  or  query,  betrayed  Alice 
into  a  helpless: 

"What?" 

"You  see,"  the  Prince  continued  cheerfully,  "Sylvia  is 
so  confoundedly  ambitious.  She  won't  marry  me  unless 
I  am  at  least  the  second  in  succession.  At  present  I  am 
third.  The  outlook  for  me  apparently  hopeless.  Heaven 
is  my  witness  I  don't  care  a  fig  for  the  crown  of  Hohen- 
hof-Hohe,  but  I  do  care  a  whole  fig  orchard  for  Sylvia. 
I'm  terribly  keen  about  Sylvia.  Now  Sylvia  is  convinced 
that  Egon  will  never  live  to  reign.  It's  a  horrid  idea; 
I  sincerely  hope  the  cunning  little  beggar  wiH  live  to  en- 
joy life.  But  I  don't  discourage  Sylvia's  notion,  not  I. 
Consequently,  in  Sylvia's  mind,  Ulrich  alone  interposes 
between  the  throne  and  myself.  Understand?  Conse- 
quently Ulrich's  to  be  gotten  out  of  the  way." 

"Strychnine  or  prussic  acid?"  asked  Alice  ironically. 

"Oh,  neither,  if  you  please.  Sylvia  is  much  too  kind- 
hearted.  She  chooses  a  much  pleasanter  dose  to  be  ad- 
ministered to  Ulrich.    Yourself!" 

"Precisely  what  do  you  mean  ?"  Alice  gasped. 

"Marriage  to  you,  a  full  marriage,  not  a  morganatic 
one,  would  bar  Ulrich.  Do  you  understand  now,  my 
dear  Alice?" 

The  blood  mantled  the  girl's  cheek.  She  was  furiously 
angry. 

"First  of  all,  I  must  beg  that  your  Highness  will  not 
address  me  by  my  first  name." 

"Future  cousins,  my  dear !  Don't  try  to  sidetrack  me. 
Du  musst  mir  Rede  und  Antwort  stehen,  tnein  suesscs 
Cousinchen." 


276  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"I  simply  won't  have  you  call  me  'thou/  Prince 
Gunther." 

"All  en  famille.  Look  here,  Alice,  cousin  mine,  as  I 
devoutly  hope,  Sylvia  would  murder  me  outright  if  she 
knew  I  told  you  all  this." 

"Then  why  did  you  tell  ?" 

"Because  I  want  you  to  know  you  have  our  coopera- 
tion, our  moral  support." 

"Cooperation  in  what,  Prince  Gunther,  pray?" 

She  was  more  furious  even  than  a  moment  ago.  She 
could  barely  talk,  she  was  so  enraged. 

"What's  the  use  of  beating  about  the  bush  ?"  said  the 
young  gentleman  unconcernedly.  "Look  here,  Alice, 
cousin  mine,  Ulrich  is  unscrupulous  where  women  are 
concerned.  Moreover,  he's  successful  with  women,  men 
of  our  rank  usually  are.  Pardon  my  brutality.  If  you 
balk  him,  as  anyone  who  can  tell  a  virtuous  woman  from 
the  other  kind,  can  see  you  will,  he'll  end  by  offering  you 
marriage.  Sylvia's  and  my  support,  our  moral  support, 
ought  to  be  worth  a  good  deal  to  you  ?" 

"I  think,  Prince  Gunther,"  said  Alice  with  a  sudden 
access  of  vigor,  "that  you  are  taking  entirely  too  much 
for  granted.  You  are  taking  for  granted  that  your 
cousin  cares  for  me.  You  are  taking  it  for  granted  that 
I  care  for  him.  I  consider  you  an  extremely  insolent  and 
tactless  young  man,  even  if  you  are  a  prince." 

Gunther  became  very  pale.    He  bit  his  lip. 

"For  the  love  of  mercy,"  he  said,  "don't  go  on  in  that 
strain.  If  you  cut  me,  or  are  rude  to  me,  Sylvia  will 
suspect  that  I've  been  saying  something.  I  beseech  you 
to  act  as  if  nothing  had  happened." 

"Very  well,  say  no  more,"  she  commanded  curtly. 

She  turned  and  faced  him,  and  as  she  looked  into  the 


THE    GREATER   JOY  £77 

woe-begone,  boyish  eyes  of  the  young  fellow,  she  re- 
lented. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  make  myself  odious  to  you,"  he 
stammered,  "really  and  truly." 

Dancing  began  soon  after,  and  as  Alice  had  refused  to 
dance  the  first  waltz,  she  had  ample  time  to  meditate 
upon  the  strange  remarks  made  by  Gunther.  Upon  re- 
flection it  seemed  to  her  that  if  anything  she  owed  him 
a  debt  of  gratitude  for  his  frankness.  Sylvia's  friendli- 
ness was  now  explained.  She  wondered  whether  Ulrich 
suspected  his  cousin's  little  game.  Was  she  to  tell  him 
or  not?  Did  Sylvia  and  Prince  Gunther  really  not  sus- 
pect the  relations  which  existed  between  Ulrich  and  her- 
self? If  the  Princess  believed  her  to  be  leading  a  vir- 
tuous life,  what  would  she  do  on  discovering  the  truth? 

Alice  felt  herself  turning  hot  and  cold.  She  was  too 
shrewd  to  believe,  after  this  evening's  grilling  experi- 
ence, that  the  liaison  with  Ulrich  could  remain  a  secret 
long,  and  if  she  desired  to  save  her  reputation,  only  one 
of  two  courses  remained  open  to  her.  She  could  ask 
Ulrich  to  marry  her,  or  she  could  break  with  him. 
But  she  had  no  illusions  as  to  her  capacity  to  fulfil  the 
latter  alternative.  Her  love  for  him  was  stronger  than 
any  consideration,  stronger  than  sense  of  virtue  or  self- 
respect,  stronger  than  any  consideration  of  the  world's 
opinion. 

Then  there  was  the  matter  of  clothes,  of  living  standes- 
gemaess.  She  could  no  longer  blind  herself  to  the  fact 
that  if  she  decided  to  continue  in  her  present  relation  to 
Ulrich,  she  would  sooner  or  later  be  forced  to  allow  him 
to  supply  her  with  funds.  It  was  out  of  the  question  that 
she  continue  starving  herself  as  she  had  been  doing.  A 
few  times  during  the  evening  everything  had  gone  black 


278  THE    GREATER    JOY 

before  her  eyes,  and  of  the  manifold  fears  that  beset 
her,  the  most  immediate  and  salient  one  was  that 
she  might  faint  in  Ulrich's  arms  while  dancing  with 
him. 

"Miss  Vaughn,  can  I  not  prevail  on  you  to  dance?" 

Von  Garde,  who  was  sitting  out  the  dance  with  her, 
was  bending  over  her  solicitously.  She  turned  with  a 
start.    She  had  completely  forgotten  him. 

"Yes,  I  believe  I  will  dance,  after  all." 

Anything  was  better  than  to  sit  and  revolve  in  her 
mind  the  various  thoughts  that  were  tormenting  her. 

"Why  do  you  always  turn  to  the  right?"  she  asked 
von  Garde. 

"We  are  not  permitted  to  turn  to  the  left  at  Court," 
von  Garde  replied. 

"But  I  saw  Prince  Ulrich  turn  to  the  left  a  few  times," 
Alice  protested. 

Von  Garde  smiled. 

"Prince  Ulrich  has  always  been  considered  a  law  unto 
himself  wherever  he  chooses  to  go  and  whatever  he 
chooses  to  do  or  say.  You  will  find  dancing  with  him 
pleasanter  than  with  ordinary  mortals." 

As  Alice  danced,  the  pain  and  the  anguish  which  she 
had  been  enduring,  seemed  to  leave  her.  She  no  longer 
dreaded  the  dance  with  him,  and  now  that  she  felt  the 
agreeable  support  of  another  man's  arm  about  her  waist, 
she  felt  a  strange  yearning  for  the  pressure  of  the  arm 
of  the  man  she  loved. 

When  she  finally  found  herself  in  Ulrich's  arms  dur- 
ing a  later  dance,  a  sort  of  intoxication  came  over  her. 
She  gave  him  a  smile  as  they  started  off.  His  arm  trem- 
bled against  her  back.  A  little  demon  of  mischief  en- 
tered into  her  heart.  She  gave  him  another  smile,  a 
seductive,  winning,  wooing  smile,  a  smile  utterly  inde- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  279 

corous  and  out  of  place  in  a  ballroom.  She  saw  Ulrich 
flush. 

"Don't,  don't,"  he  murmured.  "If  you  look  at  me  like 
tfiat  again  I  shall  kiss  you  right  here  regardless  of  con- 
sequences for  us  both." 

She  laughed  and  averted  her  face.  Her  vertigo  was 
gone.  Her  feet  were  preternaturally  light,  her  head 
strangely  clear. 

She  danced  a  second  dance  with  him  and  a  third.  But 
she  escaped  from  his  presence,  and  he  from  hers  between 
dances.  Both  felt  that  it  would  be  intolerable  to  be  near 
to  each  other  maintaining  a  sedate  inactivity  after  the 
delirium  of  the  dance. 

Alice  was  the  soul  of  animation  during  the  interludes. 
Her  usual  pallor  had  left  her,  a  faint  pink  bloomed  on 
her  cheek,  her  eyes  were  radiant,  an  effulgence  seemed 
to  be  exuded  by  her  person.  She  was  more  dazzlingly, 
blindingly  lovely  than  ever.  Men  and  women  alike 
crowded  about  her,  and  she  was  charming  with  all.  She 
hardly  knew  what  she  spoke  of  or  what  she  listened  to. 
But  she  was  agreeable  spontaneously,  automatically  al- 
most, essaying  to  converse  in  her  pretty,  broken  German, 
and  apologizing  charmingly  for  her  mistakes. 

Sylvia  watched  her  in  astonishment. 

"She  is  transfigured,"  she  whispered  to  Gunther. 
Quickly  she  added :  "Look  at  Ulrich." 

Ulrich  had  deliberately  turned  his  back  to  Alice,  and 
was  talking  to  Excellenz  von  Garde,  young  von  Garde's 
mother.  But  as  soon  as  the  music  struck  up  for  the 
next  dance,  he  was  back  at  the  girl's  side,  and  without 
looking  at  her,  claimed  her  as  his  partner.  From  under 
the  lowered  lids,  his  eyes  were  flashing  fire. 

When  he  came  to  lead  her  away  for  the  fourth  dance, 
Sylvia  said: 


280  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Miss  Vaughn,  would  you  mind  very  much  sitting  out 
this  dance  with  me?  I  have  such  a  funny  story  to  tell 
you." 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  comply  with  the 
Princess'  request,  and  Ulrich  went  off  in  quest  of  another 
partner.  He  could  not  help  knowing  how  dearly  the 
honor  of  a  dance  with  him  was  prized,  and  he  was  good- 
natured  enough  to  fulfill  his  obligations  in  this  respect. 

When  they  were  alone,  Sylvia  said  earnestly : 

"Alice,  dear,  you  positively  must  not  dance  with  Ul- 
rich again  to-night.  You  are  innocent,  child,  and  see  no 
harm  in  such  things.  But  the  world  here  is  more  cen- 
sorious than  the  world  you  knew  at  home,  and  you  must 
not  permit  either  Ulrich  or  Gunther  to  make  you  con- 
spicuous in  any  way." 

"Very  well,"  said  Alice  meekly.  A  sense  of  shame 
came  over  her.     She  innocent ! 

She  was  glad  enough  to  escape  from  Sylvia  when  von 
Hollen  and  von  Garde  came  up  simultaneously  and  asked 
for  the  dance.  She  did  not  like  von  Hollen.  There  was 
a  heavy,  sensual  look  in  the  young  man's  face  that  made 
her  shrink  from  him.  So  she  chose  von  Garde,  but  was 
reluctantly  forced  to  promise  von  Hollen  the  succeeding 
dance. 

That  Sylvia's  warning  was  not  a  needless  one,  was  at- 
tested by  a  subsequent  talk  with  the  Hofmarschall. 

"We  have  a  Court  Gazette  in  our  excellent  little  town," 
he  explained,  his  malevolent  eyes  fixed  searchingly  upon 
her  face,  "and  in  this  paper  is  a  column  called  Wurstzip- 
fel — Ends  of  Sausages  would  be  the  English  equivalent 
— all  the  doings  at  Court  are  chronicled  therein.  You 
will  share  a  Wurstzipfel  to-morrow  with  Prince  Ulrich, 
because  you  have  danced  so  often  with  his  Highness." 

The  room  danced  before  Alice's  eyes.    Odious,  mali- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  281 

cious,  sly  old  animal !  Did  he  hope  to  embarrass  her  to 
the  point  of  committing  an  indiscretion  ?  It  was  with  the 
thought  uppermost  in  her  mind  that  Ulrich  would  never 
forgive  her  if  she  did  not  make  some  tart  retort,  that 
she  asked,  looking  very  girlish,  very  unsophisticated, 
very  innocent: 

"Have  you  no  Censor  in  Hohenhof-Hohe  ?" 

"Certainly,  Miss  Vaughn.  But  it  is  hardly  Use  majeste 
to  say  that  his  Highness  devoted  himself  exclusively  to 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  room,  in  the  country, 
perhaps  in  all  Europe." 

Alice  shrugged  her  shoulders.  It  was  a  trick  she  had 
picked  up  from  Sylvia.  It  robbed  her  of  some  of  her 
girlishness,  gave  her  an  air  of  worldliwiseness,  and  even 
before  she  spoke  the  Hofmarschall  saw  that  he  had  been 
wrong  in  believing  that  he  was  succeeding  in  breaking 
down  her  self-possession. 

"I  should  think,"  she  said  languidly,  luxuriously  lying 
back  among  the  cushions  of  her  chair,  "that  no  matter 
what  else  is  mentioned  in  your  Wurstzipfel  the  Public 
Censor  would  disapprove  of  seeing  royalty  embodied 
therein.  We  provincial  New  Yorkers,  you  see,  deem 
ends  of  sausages  fit  only  to  feed  to  dogs  or  to  bait  rats 
with." 

Purposely  she  introduced  a  shade  of  insolence  into  her 
voice,  and  her  words  and  manner  infuriated  the  old  man. 
A  sign  of  weakness  on  her  part  might  still  have  placated 
him.    Now  he  was  become  her  indomitable  enemy. 

The  Hofmarschall  sought  out  Princess  Sylvia.  She 
was  sitting  in  a  corner  of  the  conservatory  with  Gunther, 
who  detested  the  Hofmarschall,  and  ran  away  from  the 
ferret-eyed  little  man  as  soon  as  he  could. 

"Well,  Herr  Hofmarschall ?"  she  asked.  There  was 
challenge  in  her  tone.     She  knew  the  Master  of  Cere- 


THE    GREATER    JOY 


monies  well  enough  to  be  on  her  mettle  with  him  at  afl 
times. 

"I  have  had  a  little  talk  with  your  American  friend, 
Princess." 

"So  I  observed."    Sylvia's  voice  was  dry  and  hard. 

"Your  friend,  as  she  was  careful  to  impress  on  me." 

"My  friend,  certainly!  I  had  already  told  you  that, 
Herr  Hofmarschall.  Was  Miss  Vaughn's  word  neces- 
sary to  corroborate  mine  ?" 

"I  confess,  Princess,  I  shall  be  frank  with  you;  for 
once  I  do  not  quite  follow  your  little  game — do  not 
quite  comprehend  why  you  elect  to  play  the  part  of  fairy- 
godmother  of  love  to  the  redoubtable  Ulrich  and  the 
fair  American." 

"All  things  come  to  him  who  waits,  Herr  Hof- 
marschall" 

"That  again,  so  Sphinx-like,  so  a  la  Oracle  of  Delphi." 

Sylvia  remained  mute.  The  Hofmarschall  smoothed 
his  creaseless  gloves  with  care. 

"Are  you  quite  sure,  Princess,"  he  asked  gently,  "that 
you  are  not  overshooting  your  mark  this  time?  The 
young  lady  is  no  fool,  by  any  means.  She  is  clever,  very 
clever,  and  cleverness  allied  to  beauty  so  flawless  and 
exquisite  as  hers,  makes  a  very  formidable  adversary. 
Ulrich  the  redoubtable  seems  much  smitten." 

"Et  tu,  Brute?"  said  Sylvia  sarcastically. 

The  Hofmarschall  protested  feebly. 

Sylvia  laughed.    She  became  animated  and  pleasant. 

"Then  she  strikes  you  as  being  very  beautiful? 
Doesn't  she?" 

The  Hofmarschall  was  still  busy  with  his  gloves. 

"A  face  to  change  the  map  of  empires,"  he  said  care- 
lessly. 

"Ah!" 


THE    GREATER   JOY  283 

The  ejaculation  was  what  he  had  waited  for.  There 
was  no  need  to  look  at  Sylvia's  face.  The  inflection  of 
her  voice  told  him  all. 

"And  clever,  I  think,  Herr  Hofmarschall,  you  said 
you  thought  her  clever,  too?" 

"She  delivered  herself  of  some  very  neat  lunges,"  he 
said  with  assumed  indifference. 

"Really?    You  goaded  her,  no  doubt." 

"Goaded  her?  My  dear  Princess,  I  would  hardly  do 
so  crude  a  thing  as  'goad*  a  woman.  I  wonder  you  can 
suggest  it.  I  merely  pricked  her  lightly,  tickled  her 
gently — very,  very  gently,  I  assure  you." 

"And  she  responded  immediately?" 

"As  promptly  as  the  bull  responds  when  the  bandillero 
plants  the  little  tantalizing  pennants  of  colored  ribbon  ia 
his  hide." 

Sylvia's  eyes  narrowed.  She  was  displeased.  The 
Hofmarschall,  without  seeming  to  see,  saw  her  dis- 
pleasure. 

"You  said  something  malicious,  I  suppose  ?"  she  asked. 

"On  the  contrary,  I  was  very  nice  to  her.  I  paid  her 
a  compliment." 

"A  compliment,  I  suppose,  with  a  sting  in  it  like  a 
barbed  wire  fence." 

"No,  no.  A  real  compliment.  I  complimented  her 
upon  her  beauty." 

Sylvia  sighed  wearily.    In  a  perfunctory  tone  she  said : 

"You  are  a  clever  man,  Herr  Hofmarschall;  court 
intrigues  you  understand  to  perfection.  But  of  Ameri- 
can women  you  know  nothing — nothing." 

Von  Bardolph  pretended  to  be  piqued. 

"Indeed!"  he  exclaimed. 

"When  an  American  girl  possesses  a  quality  that  is 
very  evident,  either  a  physical  attribute  or  a  mental  trait, 


284  THE    GREATER    JOY 

such  as  Miss  Vaughn's  beauty,  she  considers  the  man 
who  compliments  her  upon  it  merely  slow-witted  and 
heavy." 

"My  dear,  dear  Princess,  why  this  show  of  temper?" 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  'dear'  me  quite  so  much,  Herr 
'Hoftnarschall." 

"Zu  Befehl,  Hoheit." 

The  old  man  uttered  the  deferential  little  stock  phrase 
signifying  the  speaker's  abject  submission  to  the  man- 
dates of  royalty  with  a  sarcastic  flourish  of  manner  that 
maddened  Sylvia.  She  gave  him  a  scornful,  withering 
glance,  and  vouchsafed  no  reply. 

The  Hofmarschall  reached  for  a  chair. 

"Have  I  your  Highness's  permission  to  sit?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"I  always  force  you  to  stand  in  my  presence,  don't  I, 
Herr  Hofmarschall?"  she  asked  contemptuously. 

He  seated  himself,  stretched  his  gouty  leg,  and  re- 
garded her  quizzically. 

"What  are  her  morals  ?"  he  asked. 

Sylvia  flushed.  She  was  very  angry,  anil  er  anger 
blinded  her  to  the  manoeuvres  of  the  clever  old  diploma- 
tist. 

"Herr  Hofmarschall,"  she  said  haughtily,  "the  ques- 
tion is  out  of  place.    Miss  Vaughn  is  here  as  my  friend." 

He  arose  and  bowed.    Then  he  sat  down  again. 

"It  is  only  fair  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  "that  I  warned  her 
against  you." 

"Very  interesting." 

"I  told  her  that  as  an  enemy  you  were  implacable." 

Sylvia  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"It  does  not  matter,"  she  said.  "She  will  not  believe 
you,  at  any  rate.     She  thinks  no  evil." 

"Even  if  she  commits  it?" 


THE    GREATER    JOY  285 

Sylvia  became  furious. 

"Herr  Hofmarschall,  for  the  third  and  last  time,  I 
insist  that  you  do  not  make  remarks  of  that  sort  about  a 
friend  of  mine." 

"Princess  Sylvia,"  the  old  man's  manner  was  almost 
a  sneer,  "you  would  not  tell  me  what  your  little  game 
is,  but  I  have  found  it  out !  'A  face  to  change  the  map 
of  empires!'  You  wish  Ulrich  to  marry  this  girl  to 
clear  the  way  for  Gunther,  so  that  you  may  some  day  be 
queen.  Do  you  really  believe  I  will  stand  idly  by  and 
allow  Ulrich  to  contract  such  a  mesalliance?  I  am  re- 
sponsible for  the  conduct  of  this  Court.  Shall  a  scandal 
such  as  this  marriage  would  make  ring  through  Europe  ? 
This  kingdom  needs  Prince  Ulrich.  He  has  been  wildly 
extravagant.  The  State  paid  his  debts  twice  over  in  an- 
ticipation of  his  services  as  Prince  Regent,  and  the  State 
has  a  right  to  hold  him  to  the  bargain.  The  old  King  will 
be  dead  within  a  year,  and  Ulrich,  not  Gunther,  can  re- 
store this  kingdom  to  prosperity  and  well-being.  The 
Kingdom  shall  have  its  own.  I  shall  spare  no  means,  fair 
or  foul,  to  gain  my  end.  You  are  warned.  Remove  her, 
if  you  are  really  her  friend.  Unless  she  leaves  Hohen- 
hof-Hohe  and  that  within  a  month's  time,  I  will  blast 
her  reputation,  and  no  matter  how  great  Ulrich's  infatu- 
ation for  her  is,  even  he  will  not  think  of  marrying  a 
woman  who  has  been  publicly  branded  as  his  mistress." 

Sylvia  was  livid  with  rage.  Before  she  could  reply, 
the  old  man  had  hobbled  away. 

Von  Garde  took  Alice  in  to  dinner.  The  question  of 
rank  had  been  waived  in  distributing  the  guests  at  table, 
ostensibly  at  Sylvia's  wish,  and  von  Garde  and  the 
American  sat  at  the  same  table  with  the  royal  princes. 
In  spite  of  Alice's  insufficient  command  of  German,  she 
perceived   that   this   arrangement    excited   considerable 


286  THE    GREATER    JOY 

comment,  and  that  it  was  generally  taken  for  granted 
that  she  was  the  cause  of  it.  Looks  of  saccharine,  cloy- 
ing sweetness  greeted  her  on  all  sides,  and  she  was 
treated  by  all  to  whom  she  was  introduced  with  that  sin- 
gular, seemingly-honest  cordiality  which  is  the  manner 
affected  by  the  average,  well-bred  German,  and  although 
Alice  was  too  astute  to  accept  this  warmth  at  face  value, 
it  was  nevertheless  very  pleasant  to  have  majestic  dow- 
agers in  velvet  and  diamonds,  and  old  generals  with  so 
many  stars  and  orders  pinned  to  their  uniforms  that  the 
cloth  was  all  but  obscured,  take  evident  pains  to  make 
themselves  agreeable  to  her. 

She  was  clever  enough  to  know  that  it  was  the  magic 
phrase  "Princess  Sylvia's  friend,"  that  caused  this 
friendly  flutter  about  her.  She  was  not  clever  enough, 
however,  to  realize  that  behind  a  good  many  of  those 
friendly  faces  lurked  brains  which  had  even  now  delved 
to  the  truth  of  the  matter,  and  were,  in  talk  among  them- 
selves, substituting  the  words  "Prince  Ulrich's  new  fav- 
orite" for  "Princess  Sylvia's  friend." 

She  would  not  have  been  human  if  she  had  not  en- 
joyed her  success.  Von  Garde  was  delightful.  He  ef- 
faced himself  completely  and  contented  himself  with 
drawing  her  out  so  that  she  might  shine  and  scintillate 
more  brightly.  It  was  he,  also,  who  introduced  her  to 
Baroness  von  Hess,  who  sat  at  his  other  side.  Alice's 
neighbor  at  table  was  General  von  Ruegen,  who,  al- 
though introduced  to  her,  ignored  her  completely.  It 
was  the  first  and  only  rebuff  she  met  with  through  the 
evening,  and  it  annoyed  her  unwarrantably.  He  was  an 
old  man,  lithe  and  erect,  and  his  hair  and  mustache  were 
as  white  as  snow,  giving  him  a  venerable,  lovable  ap- 
pearance. Alice  had  singled  him  out  early  in  the  even-  | 
ing  as  one  of  the  few  persons  whom  she  would  care  to! 


THE    GREATER    JOY  287 

know  more  intimately.  Now  it  appeared,  from  the  mor- 
tifying politeness  with  which  he  treated  her  when  forced 
to  speak  to  her,  that  he  would  not  care  to  know  her  more 
intimately. 

General  von  Ruegen,  was,  in  truth,  an  aristocrat  of  the 
old  school,  a  man  with  inflexible  notions  of  honor  for 
men,  and  of  virtue  for  women.  His  family  was  one  of 
the  noblest  and  oldest  not  only  in  the  kingdom  of  Ho- 
henhof-Hohe  but  in  the  whole  of  Germany.  Of  uncom- 
promising probity  himself,  he  exacted  the  same  high 
plane  of  living  from  others.  It  was  only  necessary,  as 
Gunther  had  disingenuously  said,  to  look  at  Ulrich's  eyes 
while  contemplating  Alice  to  read  his  infatuation  and  the 
old  Excellenz  quickly  sized  up  the  situation.  This  girl, 
charming  and  well-bred  though  she  was,  was  in  conse- 
quence no  fit  companion  for  his  girls,  two  plain-looking, 
flaxen-haired  maidens  of  eighteen  and  nineteen,  and  be- 
cause he  perceived  how  her  beauty  and  wit  had  dazzled 
his  Anna  and  his  Marie,  the  old  man  treated  Alice  a 
shade  more  coldly  perhaps,  than  he  would  have  done 
had  her  superiority  been  less  manifest. 

Owing  to  the  General's  frigid  manner,  Alice  was 
forced  to  speak  exclusively  with  von  Garde,  as  the  table 
was  too  broad  to  allow  of  much  cross-talking,  and  it  was 
therefore  impossible  for  her  to  ignore  Baroness  von 
Hess,  as  General  von  Ruegen  was  ignoring  her,  without 
appearing  deliberately  rude. 

The  Baroness's  manner  was  absolutely  conventional. 
She  was  entertaining  and  clever,  if  not  witty,  and  ex- 
tremely good-natured.  Alice's  first  impression  of  her 
was  strongly  revived.  She  could  not  help  but  admire 
this  clever,  gracious  woman  of  the  world. 

The  three  were  soon  chatting  merrily.  Alice  stole 
furtive  glances  to  the  head  of  the  table  at  times,  to  see 


288  THE    GREATER    JOY 

if  Ulrich  were  watching  the  Baroness,  or  glancing  at 
her,  or  observing  her  in  any  way,  but  he,  coldly  indiffer- 
ent, looking  marvellously  bored,  was  punctiliously  de- 
voting himself  to  his  neighbor. 

The  Baroness  was  shamefully  neglecting  her  husband, 
who  sat  at  her  side.  He,  a  wizened,  insignificant-looking, 
faded  old  man,  showed  no  resentment  and  gave  himself 
up  to  enjoyment  of  the  excellent  dinner  before  him.  Be- 
cause of  the  Baron's  poor  physique  and  general  repul- 
siveness,  Alice  concluded  that  the  Baroness  must  have 
entertained  an  overwhelming  passion,  if  not  love,  for 
Ulrich.  In  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  she  experi- 
enced a  violent  desire  to  rend  and  tear  this  woman,  be- 
cause she  had  enjoyed  the  caresses  of  her  lover,  and 
the  cordiality  and  sweetness  of  the  Baroness  now  seemed 
to  her  a  well-laid  trap  of  some  sort,  by  means  of  which 
the  man  she  loved  was  ultimately  to  be  wrested  from 
her.  For  a  few  miserable  moments  hatred  tossed 
and  surged  in  her.  She  dared  not  raise  her  eyes  for 
fear  that  they  mirrored  what  was  written  in  her 
heart. 

Then,  ashamed  of  her  vehemence,  she  endeavored  to 
make  tangible  amends  by  increased  amiability.  A  little 
episode  helped  matters  along.  While  Alice  was  looking 
at  Baron  von  Hess,  quietly  gormandizing  at  his  wife's 
side,  it  occurred  to  her  that  such  a  man  could  not  in  the 
least  appreciate  his  charming  wife,  and  that  she  was 
scarcely  to  be  blamed  if  her  affections  strayed.  The  dis- 
gust with  which  Baron  von  Hess  infused  her,  became 
plainly  visible  in  her  face.  He  was  eating  voraciously. 
Alice,  fascinated  by  his  greediness,  continued  to  gaze  at 
him. 

Suddenly  she  became  aware  that  the  Baroness  was 
regarding  her.    Their  eyes  met.    There  was  an  amused 


THE    GREATER    JOY  c2'69 

smile  on  the  Baroness's  face,  while  Alice  blushed  furi- 
ously. 

The  Baroness  said : 

"Your  eyes  are  terribly  eloquent,  Miss  Vaughn."  She 
spoke  past  von  Garde,  who  was  prolix  in  his  explanation 
to  the  waiter  as  to  the  kind  of  ice  cream  desired  by  the 
ladies,  and  who  therefore  did  not  hear  her. 

"Are  they  ?"  stammered  Alice.  Horribly  mortified,  she 
added  quickly,  "Sometimes  eloquence  is  misleading." 

The  Baroness  laughed  as  she  replied: 

"Not  in  this  case,  Miss  Vaughn;  you  are  quite  right 
in  your  estimate.    It  is  mine,  too." 

Then  she  laughed  again,  and  Alice,  seeing  her  lack  of 
animosity,  laughed  also.  When  she  looked  up,  she  en- 
countered Ulrich's  eyes.  He  seemed  vastly  amused.  He 
held  her  glance  for  a  moment.    Her  eyes  dropped  first. 

"Your  eyes  are  terribly  eloquent,  Miss  Vaughn,"  re- 
peated the  Baroness.  Alice  thought  there  was  a  bit  of 
malice  in  her  voice  this  time.  She  threw  back  her  head 
defiantly,  and  met  the  other  woman's  gaze  squarely. 

The  Baroness  continued  smoothly : 

"This  time  it  did  not  matter,  Miss  Vaughn,  but  some 
other  wife  might  be  less  complacent." 

Later,  at  three  o'clock,  Aiice  left  the  ballroom  and 
went  downstairs  for  her  wraps.  She  entertained  a  vague 
sort  of  hope  that  Ulrich  might  be  loitering  about  down- 
stairs for  a  last  word  with  her.  She  was  disappointed. 
He  was  not  there. 

In  the  dressing  room  a  number  of  ladies  sat  chatting  as 
gaily  as  if  it  were  three  in  the  afternoon  instead  of  three 
in  the  morning,  and  Alice  heard  someone  say  that  Prince 
Ulrich  had  left  much  earlier  than  was  his  wont.  She  also 
encountered  Baroness  von  Hess  once  more,  who  took 
occasion  to  say  to  her: 


290  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Miss  Vaughn,  I  hope  that  what  I  hear  is  true,  that 
you  will  remain  among  us  all  winter.  In  a  small,  exclu- 
sive society  like  ours,  you  have  no  conception  what  a 
boon  a  new  face  is,  particularly  when  that  new  face 
promises  also  to  become  a  new  personality  and  a  new 
brain.', 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  Alice,  experiencing  consid- 
erable uneasiness.     "I  intend  remaining  all  winter." 

"You  Americans  are  an  enviable  people,"  said  the 
Baroness,  "independent  means  and  independent  charac- 
ter. A  young  woman  of  no  other  nationality,  I  venture 
to  assert,  would  dare  to  live  without  a  chaperone." 

"I  would  hardly  know  what  to  do  with  a  chaperone," 
smiled  Alice. 

"Nevertheless,  later  on  you  may  find  a  chaperone  quite 
convenient,"  was  the  Baroness's  enigmatic  retort.  "Good- 
night, my  dear." 

What  did  it  mean?  Alice  stood  nonchalantly  fasten- 
ing her  glove  after  the  Baroness  was  gone.  She  could 
not  find  the  key  to  this  woman's  character.  Nor  could 
she  ask  Sylvia  any  leading  questions  without  betray- 
ing the  real  reason  of  her  curiosity.  Nor  could  she  ask 
Ulrich.  For  some  reason  which  she  could  not  explain  to 
herself,  she  did  not  wish  Ulrich  to  suspect  that  she 
knew.  ... 

As  she  entered  the  automobile  which  Sylvia  had  placed 
at  her  disposal  for  going  home,  she  started  back  in  sud- 
den fright.    The  figure  of  a  man  was  visible  in  the  car. 

"Don't  be  frightened ;  it  is  I " 

"Ulrich." 

His  arm  had  closed  about  her  even  before  the  door 
of  the  car  had  swung  to. 

"I  could  not  go  home,  sweetheart,  without  taking  you 
in  my  arms  once,  just  once,  to  kiss  you " 


THE    GREATER    JOY  291 

His  lips  were  voracious.  His  arms  crushed  her,  until 
in  pain  from  the  violence  with  which  his  strong  arms 
encircled  her  tender  body,  she  begged  for  mercy. 

He  relinquished  her  almost  immediately. 

Dishevelled,  her  face  burning  from  the  roughness  with 
which  his  lips  had  bruised  it,  her  body  aching  from  the 
impact  of  his  arms,  she  sat  back  to  collect  herself. 

He  turned,  and  sitting  sideways  on  the  seat,  faced 
her. 

"Did  you  enjoy  yourself?" 

"Yes,  I  enjoyed  myself  ever  so  much  more  than  I 
thought  I  would." 

"You  had  quite  a  success." 

"Everybody  was  delightful!" 

"Everybody  bowed  to  beauty  which  none  can  chal- 
lenge." 

Suddenly  he  had  her  in  his  arms  again,  and  was  whis- 
pering to  her  his  love  with  a  vehemence  that  was  tem- 
pestuous. She  tried  to  ward  him  off,  but  all  his  passion 
seemed  to  have  gone  to  his  lips  and  his  mouth  was  trav- 
elling over  her  face,  her  eyes,  her  hair  with  a  rapidity 
from  which  there  was  no  escaping.  She  uttered  a  low 
cry,  and  fell  back  in  his  arms.  His  lips  descended  upon 
her  bare  shoulder,  and  showered  kisses  upon  it  .  .  . 

"No,  Ulrich,  do  be  nice,  dear;  we  shall  be  seen — the 
street  is  quite  light  still " 

Suddenly  she  felt  giddy  and  ill.  She  really  hoped  he 
would  desist.  She  had  felt  dizzy  a  few  times  during  the 
evening,  a  few  times  the  room  had  gone  black  before  her 
eyes.  She  knew  very  well  that  malnutrition  was  the 
cause  of  her  vertigo,  and  had  barely  touched  the  rich 
viands  of  the  banquet,  fearing  they  would  make  her 
ill. 

Finally  he  drew  away  from  her,  but  she  could  see  from 


292  THE    GREATER    JOY 

the  ecstatic  light  in  his  eyes  that  he  had  not  even  heard 
her  admonition.  He  covered  his  face  with  his  hand,  and 
sat  back  in  the  softly  padded  seat.  She  could  see  that 
he  was  ashamed  of  his  lack  of  restraint.  She  shivered; 
she  drew  her  cloak  about  her  shoulders  and  sat  huddled 
together,  numb  with  the  cold  resulting  from  fatigue. 

He  looked  at  her. 

"How  white  you  are,  Alice !  You  are  very  tired,  aren't 
you  ?"    He  spoke  gently,  affectionately. 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Your  'cosy  corner*  is  at  your  disposal." 

She  laughed. 

"Don't  you  really  mind?  You're  not  too  tired,  your- 
self?" 

"Mind!" 

She  crept  into  his  arms,  against  his  shoulder.  To 
make  her  more  comfortable,  he  put  his  arms  about  her, 
holding  her  firmly.  She  lay  against  his  breast  in  deli- 
cious, drowsy  languor.  The  warmth  of  his  strong  body 
was  strangely  gratifying. 

"Are  you  quite  comfy?"  he  murmured. 

"Yes,  dear." 

But  she  did  not  fall  asleep.  She  lay  against  his  shoul- 
der, watching  his  face.  The  look  of  ecstasy  died  away, 
and  was  succeeded  by  a  look  of  quiet,  determined  pa- 
tience. She  had  never  seen  this  strange  look  in 
his  face  before.  He  had  always  struck  her  as  a  man 
who  accomplished  things  by  his  brilliance,  his  initia- 
tive, his  rapid  and  imaginative  daring,  but  now  in  re- 
pose, not  knowing  that  she  was  watching  him,  she  saw 
an  entirely  different  trait  spring  out  upon  his  mobile  face. 
She  had  the  sensation  that  he  had  become  a  stranger. 
A  singular  craving  seized  her  to  hear  his  voice  utter 
some  familiar  word  of  endearment. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  293 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  her  that  in  asking  her  whether 
she  was  "very  tired''  he  had  employed  his  usual  delicacy 
to  ascertain  whether  she  would  allow  him  to  spend  an 
hour  with  her  before  retiring  to  the  Neues  Palais,  and 
she  was  quite  certain  that,  perceiving  her  fatigue,  he 
would  not  ask  her  the  direct  question  for  fear  that  she 
would  acquiesce  against  her  own  inclination. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Ulrich?" 

He  started. 

"I  thought  you  were  asleep,  sweetheart." 

She  raised  her  head  from  his  shoulder  and  repeated 
her  question. 

"I  was  thinking,  dearest,"  he  said  with  a  sort  of  pas- 
sionate gentleness,  "that  it  seems  almost  too  good  to  be 
true — having  you  here  as  my  own,  my  very  own.  Only 
one  thing  is  lacking  to  make  life  quite  perfect." 

"What  is  that  one  thing,  Ulrich?" 

"That  I  must  leave  you  again  to-night,  that  I  cannot 
breakfast  with  you  in  the  morning,  as  I  might  do  if 
you  would  allow  me  to  give  you  your  own  establish- 
ment." 

She  became  frightened.  During  the  bitter  moments  of 
reflection  earlier  in  the  evening,  she  had  practically  con- 
cluded that  she  must  yield  this  point  also,  for,  persisting 
in  her  present  course,  she  realized  that  she  would  either 
undermine  her  health,  or  lose  him,  or  both.  But  she  did 
not  desire  to  yield  the  point  just  then.  She  did  not  wish 
him  to  suspect  that  her  true  reason  for  yielding  the  point 
was  her  horror  of  losing  him.  She  meant  to  wait  a  week 
or  so,  and  then,  when  the  opportunity  presented  itself, 
gracefully  recant. 

A  moment  later  she  realized  how  needless  her  alarm 
had  been.  Whatever  his  faults,  the  instincts  of  the  gen- 
tleman were  too  pronounced  in  him;  he  was  too  finely 


294.  THE    GREATER    JOY 

bred  to  harass  or  distress  any  woman  as  weary  and  fa- 
tigued as  she  was,  much  less  the  woman  he  loved. 

They  rolled  along  in  silence  for  several  minutes. 

"Ulrich,  it  was  very  nice  of  you  to  take  me  home." 

He  laughed  shortly. 

"Was  it?"  he  said.  "It  wasn't  wholly  unselfish,"  he 
admitted.  But  although  she  waited,  hoping  he  would 
particularize  wherein  his  selfishness  consisted,  he  said 
nothing  more. 

She  kissed  him.    Pushing  her  away  gently,  he  said : 

"Alice,  dear,  don't  kiss  me  again.  I'm  miserable 
enough  as  it  is." 

"Miserable?"  she  asked,  pretending  not  to  understand. 

He  became  irritated. 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  he  said  brusquely.  "I  want 
so  much  to  be  with  you." 

"There  is  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't,"  she  said,  with 
throbbing  temples. 

"Do  you  mean —  ?  No,  it  wouldn't  be  right  of  me.  It 
is  almost  four  now.     You  are  wretchedly  tired." 

For  the  first  time,  strangely  enough,  she  realized  to 
what  inconvenience  he  was  continually  putting  him- 
self in  order  to  safeguard  her  reputation. 

"Alice,  are  you  quite  well?  Lately,  when  you  were 
asleep,  or  quiet,  you  seemed  so  exhausted,  so  utterly 
fagged  out.  You  aren't  continuing  that  absurd  butter- 
milk diet,  are  you?" 

"I  stopped  that  long  ago,"  she  fibbed  cheerfully. 

The  automobile  slackened  its  pace.  The  chauffeur  was 
trying  to  identify  the  house. 

"You  are  coming  up,  aren't  you?"  she  asked. 

"If  you're  quite  certain" — his  eyes  completed  the  sen- 
tence. 

For  the  moment  her  weariness  seemed  to  have  van- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  295 

ished.  With  a  quick,  tremulous  gesture  of  affection,  she 
touched  his  brow  with  her  ungloved  hand. 

"I  want  you  to  stay,  Ulrich  dear,"  she  said.  "Please 
come !" 

'That's  the  first  time,  dearest,  the  first  time  you've 
admitted  it." 

Her  cheeks  turned  crimson.  His  lips  felt  the  sudden 
heat  under  the  skin. 

"My  little  Puritan,"  he  whispered  tenderly.  "To  bluslf 
because  you  allow  me  to  see  that  you  love  me." 

Upstairs  he  said  in  a  disappointed  voice: 

"It's  already  a  quarter  past  four." 

She  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  smaller  room  adjoin- 
ing her  sleeping  room,  which  he  used  as  a  dressing  room. 

"Mercy,  how  cold  it  is  in  there!"  she  said.  "I  will 
leave  the  door  open,  so  the  room  can  warm  up." 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  rejoined.  "I  don't 
mind  the  cold  in  the  least,  and  your  sleeping  room  will 
be  chilled.  It  is  not  any  too  warm  now.  You  know  very 
well  that  you'll  not  sleep  a  wink  if  the  room  is  cold." 

But  she  would  not  close  the  door,  and  he,  still  with  his 
coat  and  gloves  on,  went  and  closed  it.  She  had  already 
taken  off  the  pearl  necklace  he  had  given  her  in  Venice, 
and  had  removed  her  girdle.    She  turned  to  him : 

"Unhook  me,  please." 

"Sweetheart,  I  believe  that  is  the  real  reason  you  al- 
lowed me  to  come  up  with  you,"  he  teased  her  gently. 
"You  had  no  one  to  unhook  you."  He  laid  a  kiss  be- 
tween her  shoulders. 

"I  would  have  been  in  a  fine  predicament,  wouldn't 
I?  Thank  you."  And  she  ran  off  behind  the  screen, 
and  began  undressing.  She  stood  toasting  one  pink  foot 
against  the  fire  when  he  came  forth.  She  slipped  her 
foot  into  her  slipper  and  turned. 


296  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Ulrich,  dear,"  she  went  on,  "if  you  don't  mind,  I 
should  like  to  sit  on  your  knee.,, 

He  drew  her  down  upon  his  knee,  and  she  placed  her 
hands  against  his  cheeks  and  said : 

"Ulrich,  do  you  believe  any  two  other  lovers  have 
loved  each  other  just  the  way  we  do  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  to  tease  her. 

She  frowned  her  disapproval. 

"Then  name  them." 

He  remembered  how,  in  a  moment  of  fanciful  ecstasy 
he  had  presumptiously  told  himself  that  his  name  and 
hers  would  ring  down  the  grooves  of  history  in  company 
with  the  names  of  the  classic  lovers  of  the  world. 

"Hero  and  Leander,"  he  said.  She  shrugged  her 
shoulders  disdainfully. 

"Leander  merely  swam  the  Hellespont,"  she  said.  "I 
crossed  the  ocean." 

"Romeo  and  Juliet,"  he  suggested. 

"Juliet  was  a  poor,  mean-spirited  little  coward.  She 
didn't  dare  avow  her  love.  And  Romeo  would  never 
have  remained  true  to  her." 

"Eloise  and  Abelard,"  he  said  hastily,  feeling  him- 
self to  be  on  thin  ice. 

She  became  serious. 

"They  sinned,"  she  said.  "And  they  spent  the  rest 
of  their  lives  repenting  of  their  sin,  that  means,  thinking 
of  their  sin,  and  of  each  other." 

She  leaned  her  head  against  his,  temple  to  temple. 

"Eloise  and  Abelard,"  she  said.  "Ulrich  and  Alice. 
Ulrich,  dear,  I  have  lost  my  one  slipper." 

He  stooped  and  recovered  it,  but  before  placing  it 
upon  her  foot,  he  kissed  her  instep. 

"What  a  pretty,  pink  little  foot  it  is !"  he  said. 

She  did  not  reply,  and  when  he  turned  to  her,  he  saw 


THE    GREATER    JOY  297 

that  her  eyes  had  closed.  He  watched  her  a  moment. 
She  was  lying  limply  in  his  embrace,  looking  very  white 
and  still.  It  occurred  to  him  that  she  might  have  fainted. 
Then  he  realized  that  she  had  dropped  asleep. 

He  became  bewildered.  He  pulled  over  a  chair  to 
where  he  sat  with  his  free  arm,  and  rested  his  elbow 
upon  it  to  relieve  his  arm  of  the  weight  of  her  body 
which  was  lying  upon  his  muscles  with  the  leaden  heavi- 
ness of  dead  weight.  She  was  ill.  But  what  was  the 
matter  with  her?  The  circles  under  her  eyes  were  wid- 
ening ominously.  Her  features,  as  her  slumber  deep- 
ened, became  haggard  and  pinched.  He  remembered 
the  words  of  the  Portier: 

"You  are  a  fine  fellow !  You  have  enough  to  eat  your- 
self, and  allow  your  friend  to  starve."  And  that  had 
been  over  two  months  ago ! 

A  sudden  fury  possessed  him.  How  foolish,  how  un- 
necessary for  her  to  have  suffered  like  this,  if  it  was  this, 
indeed.  He  meant  to  be  certain  of  his  premises,  and 
he  softly  unbuttoned  her  night-dress.  He  touched 
her  shoulders,  searching  for  lax  muscles,  for  flabby 
flesh. 

"This  is  horrible,"  he  said  half-aloud.  He  was  more 
shocked  by  his  discovery  than  he  had  ever  been.  It 
seemed  brutally  preposterous  that  this  frail,  delicate  girl 
had  starved  herself,  been  hungry  day  after  day  for 
months  and  months  because  she  was  too  proud  to  accept 
a  little  miserable  money  from  him.  He  could  not  credit 
the  evidence  of  his  own  eyes.    He  was  dazed. 

She  sneezed  in  her  sleep,  and  fearing  that  she  might 
take  cold,  he  carried  her  to  the  bed.  The  covers  were 
turned  back,  and  he  managed  to  slip  her  into  bed  with- 
out waking  her.  She  tossed  uneasily,  and  he  heard  her 
murmur  his  name.     This  caused  a  thrill  of  tenderness 


298  THE    GREATER    JOY 

to  run  through  him  so  acutely  that  the  tears  came  to  his 
eyes. 

He  covered  her,  and  kissed  a  braid  of  the  glorious 
hair.  He  did  not  dare  kiss  her  arm  or  her  cheek  for 
fear  of  waking  her.  Then  stealthily,  like  a  thief,  he 
crossed  to  the  bureau.  He  was  determined  now  to  learn 
all. 

He  opened  the  top  drawer  of  her  bureau,  where  he 
knew  she  kept  her  valuables,  stopping  to  take  the  key 
from  a  little  pocket  in  the  rug  where  she  invariably  left 
it.  In  the  drawers  was  the  little  box  in  which  she 
kept  her  money  and  jewelry.  It  was  open.  Beside  it 
lay  her  purse.  He  examined  the  purse  first  of  all.  The 
entire  contents  were  a  one-Mark  piece,  nor  were  there 
any  bills  or  any  coin  in  the  box.  The  trinkets  he  had 
given  her,  were  all  there,  but  he  immediately  missed  the 
pearl  and  turquoise  set  of  her  mother,  which  she  had 
shown  him  one  day,  and  finally  he  found  the  pawn- 
ticket for  this.  He  shook  his  head  in  mute  incomprehen- 
sion. 

"Good  heavens !''  he  thought,  "how  she  must  love 
me  to  be  willing  to  go  through  all  this  for  me."  But  in 
the  wake  of  this  thought  came  the  other,  "How  she  must 
despise  me  to  be  unwilling  to  accept  anything  from  me !" 

Blinded  by  tears,  humiliated,  pained  to  a  degree  that 
he  himself  would  not  have  believed  possible,  he  put  back 
the  empty  box  and  the  lean  purse,  retaining  only  the 
pawn  ticket.  Then  he  sat  down  by  the  fire  to  think  it 
all  over. 

Apparently  there  was  only  one  thing  to  do.  If  she 
persisted  in  her  refusal  to  make  provision  for  her,  he 
would  have  to  marry  her.  And  in  spite  of  his  intense 
iove  for  her,  he  was  as  disinclined  for  marriage  as  he  had 
ever  been.     And  then  there  was  Egon,  and  Hohenhof- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  299 

Hohe — and  he  had  to  do  right  by  the  boy  and  by  the 
kingdom  that  had  paid  his  debts  twice  over.  The  situa- 
tion was  horribly  complicated.  Still,  if  he  could  not  pre- 
vail upon  her  to  take  a  rational  view  of  the  situation,  he 
would  marry  her.  Even  if  he  had  desired  to  break  with 
her  in  preference  to  marrying  her,  which  he  did  not,  it 
would  have  been  out  of  the  question  for  a  man  of  honor 
to  throw  aside  a  woman  who  had  carried  her  devotion  so 
far.  And  if  he  married  her,  he  would  never  reproach 
her  or  allow  her  to  suspect  that  he  regretted  the  step, 
for  regret  it  he  would.  Of  that,  at  least,  he  was  wretch- 
edly certain. 

Suddenly  an  idea  occurred  to  him.  There  was  a  way 
in  which  in  all  probability,  he  could  force  her  to  do  what 
he  wanted. 

Alice  tossed  in  her  sleep.  He  remembered  how  light 
in  the  room  bothered  her  when  asleep,  and  he  turned  out 
the  gas,  lighting  a  candle,  and  placing  it  on  a  low  foot- 
stool, where  the  light  would  not  strike  her  eyes. 

Taking  a  writing  pad  from  his  pocket,  he  sat  down  to 
write  her  a  note.  Suddenly  his  sense  of  humor  awoke. 
It  occurred  to  him  how  incredulous  and  disappointed  all 
the  good  folk  would  be,  who  gloried  in  the  black  reputa- 
tion of  "Unser  Pr'xnz  Ulrich,"  if  they  were  told  in  what 
manner  he  was  spending  the  small  hours  of  the  morning 
alone  in  the  room  with  his  mistress. 

He  wrote. 

"Dear  Alice: 

"You  will  remember  that  you  fell  asleep  while  sitting 
on  my  knee."  This  brusque  beginning  would  lead  her  to 
believe  that  he  was  displeased  and  irritated.  That  was 
well.  It  was  time  to  show  her  that  he  was  her  master. 
"I  have  for  some  time  suspected  that  you  were  not  well. 


300  THE    GREATER    JOY 

As  your  physician,  I  insist  upon  your  following  the  in- 
structions contained  in  this  letter.  You  will,  on  waking, 
ring  for  the  janitress,  whom  I  will  instruct  before  leav- 
ing, to  wait  on  you.  These  people  know,  at  any  rate, 
that  I  am  your  lover,  so  you  can  take  no  offence  at  my 
not  consulting  you  prior  to  taking  this  step.  You  will 
eat  the  breakfast  that  I  will  have  especially  prepared  for 
you.  It  will  arrive  at  eleven,  and  you  will  also  eat  the 
light  luncheon  that  I  will  send  at  two. 

"I  wish  you  to  remain  in  bed  until  I  come,  which  will 
be  between  three  and  four.  We  will  then  discuss  the 
situation.  Ulrich." 

He  pinned  this  note  to  the  counterpane  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  where  she  could  not  help  but  see  it.  Then,  using 
every  precaution  against  making  a  noise,  he  groped  his 
.way  out  of  the  room,  and  went  downstairs.  Rousing  the 
portier  and  his  wife,  he  gave  the  couple  ample  instruc- 
tions, feeing  them  liberally. 

This  done  he  went  out  into  the  murky  blackness  of  a 
German  winter  morning. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

It  was  half-past  ten  when  Alice  awoke.  She  awoke 
with  the  sensation  of  having  gone  through  an  unexpected 
and  unusual  experience  the  night  before,  but  she  had 
slept  heavily,  and  she  could  only  hazily  recall  that  she 
had  been  at  a  ball,  and  that  Ulrich  had  come  home  with 
her. 

She  stretched  her  hand  under  her  pillow  for  her  watch, 
and  when  she  realized  that  it  was  not  there,  she  experi- 
enced a  slight  shock.  Then  she  remembered  that  she  had 
fallen  asleep  on  Ulrich's  knee,  in  his  arms,  while  sitting 
before  the  fire.    Poor  Ulrich !    He  had  been  so  ardent. 

She  sat  up  in  bed,  and  luxuriously  propped  the  pillows 
against  her  back.  When  had  he  left  her?  Why,  in 
heaven's  name,  hadn't  he  awakened  her? 

Here  she  caught  sight  of  the  note  that  he  had  pinned  to 
the  counterpane.  The  sight  of  it  set  her  heart  throbbing. 
The  sense  of  the  unusual  deepened.  It  took  her  a  few 
minutes  to  find  enough  courage  to  read  the  letter,  and 
having  read  it,  strangeljr  enough,  she  felt  reassured.  He 
was  angry,  that  was  evident,  but  she  knew  him  too  well 
by  this  time  to  suspect  him  of  petty  anger  because  she 
had  fallen  asleep  prematurely.  She  was  by  no  means  ob- 
tuse, and  on  re-reading  his  letter,  it  gave  her  the  im- 
pression of  anger  simulated  rather  than  felt.  He  de- 
sired, she  thought,  to  impress  upon  her,  that  he  was 
very  much  displeased.    With  what? 

Of  course  he  had  discovered  that  she  had  been  starv- 
ing herself.    What  did  it  matter,  since  she  was  about  to 

301 


302  THE    GREATER    JOY 

capitulate  to  him  ?  She  turned  her  head  wearily,  with  a 
sigh. 

No  matter  how  fine  the  feeling  was  that  bound  her  to 
him,  she  was  not  his  wife,  and  consequently  she  was 
living  in  sin;  she  supposed,  in  refusing  to  accept  money 
from  him  she  had,  after  all,  only  been  trying  to  cheat 
herself  into  the  belief  that  she  was  not  hopelessly,  irre- 
claimably  immoral.  She  wondered  if  he  realized  how 
keenly  she  felt  this  element.  .  .  And  yet  she  did  not  wish 
to  lose  the  sense  of  guilt.  She  felt  that  if  ever  she  fell 
into  danger  of  becoming  blunted  as  to  that,  she  would 
force  herself  to  repeat  every  night,  "I  am  living  an  im- 
moral life."  It  seemed  to  her,  in  holding  fast  to  the 
sense  of  proportion  of  her  wrongdoing,  she  was  retain- 
ing a  hold  on  the  only  bit  of  decent  living  and  morality 
that  ultimately  might  reclaim  her,  that  could  help  her  to 
keep  her  moral  nature  from  crumbling  into  helpless  ruin. 

On  the  whole  she  was  not  afraid  to  meet  Ulrich.  He 
would  show  a  good  deal  of  temper,  probably,  but  she 
knew  the  efficacy  of  her  kisses,  and  she  was  quite  sure 
that  when  he  felt  her  soft,  warm  arms  about  his  neck,  he 
would  forgive  her. 

Nevertheless,  his  letter  had  awed  her,  and  when  her 
breakfast  arrived,  she  drank  the  orange  juice,  and  ate 
the  deliciously  thin  buttered  toast,  and  the  poached  eggs, 
all  of  which  she  enjoyed — and  the  porridge  as  well, 
which  she  detested.  But  she  did  not  dare  disobey  him. 
His  note  had  been  too  peremptory. 

He  came  at  three,  and  even  before  he  entered,  she 
knew  he  was  still  angry  by  his  step.  She  became  fright- 
ened, and  could  hardly  call  out  "Come  in,"  when  he 
rapped. 

"How  are  you  to-day  ?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  feeling  very  well,"  she  said. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  303 

"Hm !"  He  had  taken  off  his  overcoat,  and  stood 
drawing  off  his  gloves,  the  picture  of  professional  aloof- 
ness.   She  made  a  desperate  effort  at  playfulness. 

"I  enjoyed  my  breakfast  and  my  lunch  very  much.  If 
you  treat  as  well  all  your  patients  who  are  not  ill  at  all, 
but  whom  you  fancy  ill,  you  must  be  very  popular." 

"You  forget,"  he  said  coldly,  "I  have  no  practice, 
strictly  speaking." 

Her  heart  began  to  beat,  her  pulses  to  leap. 

"Ulrich,"  she  said,  in  desperation,  and  there  was  a 
quiver  in  her  voice,  "aren't  you  going  to  kiss  me  ?" 

He  ignored  the  question. 

"The  air  is  bad  in  here,"  he  said,  and  opened  a  win- 
dow. Then  he  found  her  a  shawl,  and  deftly  threw  it 
about  her  shoulders  without  touching  her. 

"I  should  like  to  look  at  your  tongue." 

Obediently  she  showed  it. 

He  took  out  his  mouth  thermometer  and  washed  it. 

"Ulrich,  dear,  I'm  not  feverish — really,  it's  ab- 
surd  " 

"If  you  please,  Alice."  The  tone  was  final.  Tears 
stood  in  her  eyes,  but  she  obeyed  him. 

"Temperature  is  normal,"  he  said,  still  speaking  in 
the  cold,  detached,  professional  voice. 

He  sat  down  on  a  chair  close  beside  her  bed,  and  took 
a  stethoscope  from  his  pocket. 

"I  should  like  to  examine  your  lungs,"  he  said. 
"Kindly  open  your  night-gown." 

Her  fingers  trembled  so  violently,  as  she  tried  to  undo 
the  button,  that  she  could  not  pull  it  out  of  the  but- 
tonhole. To  her  mortification  he  was  forced  to  help 
her. 

"Lungs  are  all  right,"  he  announced,  and  stretched 
out  his  fingers  to  feel  her  pulse,  but  he  had  held  her 


304  THE    GREATER    JOY 

wrist  in  his  cool  ringers  only  a  few  seconds,  when  he 
withdrew  his  hand,  saying  gently: 

"Why  are  you  so  agitated,  Alice  ?" 

Her  tears  overflowed  and  began  to  fall. 

"Ulrich,  dear,  why  are  you  so  cross  with  me?" 

Instead  of  replying,  he  arose,  and  got  a  small  parcel 
from  his  overcoat  pocket.  This  he  placed  on  her  bed. 
She  moved  her  feet  under  the  bed  covering  to  make 
room  for  it.  He  cut  the  string,  and  undid  the  paper. 
The  turquoise  and  pearl  set  which  she  had  pawned  fell 
out. 

"How  dared  you  rummage  through  my  drawers  ?"  she 
said,  feigning  an  anger  and  a  defiance  which  she  was 
far  from  feeling.    "You  had  no  right  to." 

"Yes — I  had  a  right  to — the  right  of  the  man  who 
loves  you  and  whom  you  profess  to  love."  He  spoke  in 
a  simple,  convincing  way. 

He  pushed  the  jewelry  toward  her. 

"How  could  you  do  such  a  thing,  Alice  ?"  he  asked. 
"I  confess,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  you.  At  times 
you  pretend  to  feel  an  unbounded,  an  illimitable  devotion 
for  me.  At  other  times  you  drop  remarks  that  lead  me 
to  think  you  regard  our  love  as  a  vulgar  amour >  and 
sometimes  it  seems  to  me  that  you  think  the  only  feeling 
that  binds  me  to  you  is  my  passion.  You  seem  to  think 
that  if  you  placed  yourself  under  what  it  pleases  you  to 
term  'financial  obligations'  to  me,  it  would  lower  you 
in  my  eyes  to  the  level  of  a  common  courtesan.  How 
then  could  you,  feeling  as  you  do,  pawn  this  jewelry — 
your  father's  wedding  gift  to  your  mother — for  the  sake 
of  perpetuating  or  continuing  a  low  intrigue?" 

She  did  not  reply,  but  a  hard,  dry  sob  came  from  her 
throat.  Her  eyes  were  large,  frightened-looking  and  lus- 
trous.    Two   red    spots    showed   on  either  cheek   and 


THE    GREATER    JOY  305 

warned  him  not  to  deal  too  harshly  with  her.  She  was 
not  in  condition  to  be  frightened  into  hysterics. 

"Don't  be  so  angry,  Ulrich,  dear,"  she  begged  again. 

"I  am  not  angry,  Alice.  I  am  deeply  hurt.  You  know 
as  well  as  I  do  that  you  committed  an  inexcusably  wicked 
folly  in  starving  yourself  as  you  have  been  doing.  You 
realize,  don't  you,  dear,  that  if  you  had  taken  any  in- 
fection while  weakened  by  innutrition,  you  would  not 
have  been  able  to  fight  the  sickness?" 

"That  never  occurred  to  me,  Ulrich." 

He  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  contemplated  her  gravely. 
He  had  not  yet  kissed  her,  and  her  cheek,  her  shoulders, 
her  arms  were  aching  for  the  impact  of  his  embrace.  But 
he  had  no  thought,  at  the  moment,  of  caressing  her. 
All  he  had  said  so  far  was  inspired  by  genuine  feeling 
and  affection.  He  had  been  sincere.  There  had  not  been 
a  spurious  note  in  his  words.  But  now,  assured  that  no 
illness  was  impending,  there  leapt  into  the  foreground  of 
his  mind  the  desire  to  immediately  enter  the  devious 
paths  of  the  comedy  which  was  to  compel  her  acquies- 
cence in  financial  dependence.  He  was  anxious  to  settle 
the  matter  once  and  for  all.  If  it  would  be  necessary 
for  him  to  submit  to  the  hated  yoke  of  marriage,  why, 
submit  he  must. 

He  opened  fire  circumspectly.  He  was  cruelly  astute, 
and  what  rendered  him  so  dangerous  an  adversary  was 
his  ability  to  present  each  kernel  of  falsehood  or  insin- 
cerity or  sophistry  that  happened  to  serve  his  purpose 
at  the  moment  in  company  with  so  much  sincerity  and 
honesty  and  candor,  that  the  iniquitous  kernel  was  ab- 
sorbed, together  with  its  self-respecting  neighbors,  before 
its  true  nature  was  perceived,  much  as  a  child  will  swal- 
low a  bitter  pill  imbedded  in  a  spoonful  of  jelly  without 
noticing  the  unsavory,  hard  nucleus. 


306  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Alice/'  he  said,  "I  have  done  some  hard  thinking 
after  leaving  you  last  night,  this  morning  I  should  say. 
I  am  sorry  to  have  to  say  all  this  to  you,  but  we  must 
have  it  over.  It  is,  of  course,  out  of  the  question,  that 
things  shall  continue  as  heretofore.  As  you  seem  de- 
termined to  maintain  your  financial  independence,  only 
one  way  remains  open  for  us.  I  have  no  right  to  ruin 
your  life,  your  health,  your  future.  Your  reputation 
remains  unblemished,  and  I  feel  that  for  your  sake  cer- 
tainly, and  for  my  own  also,  before  I  grow  to  be  still 
fonder  of  you,  it  is  well  to  separate  now." 

He  had  not  the  hardihood  to  look  at  her  as  he  spoke. 
He  fully  expected  a  vigorous  remonstrance,  a  pitiful, 
tearful  sob,  perhaps — possibly  hysterics.  At  the  least  he 
thought  she  would  say  in  a  heart-broken  voice,  "I  am  not 
the  woman  to  cling  to  you  if  you  are  tired  of  me."  That 
would  have  given  him  a  chance  for  increased  diffidence 
of  manner,  and  eloquent  disavowal  in  words  of  his  de- 
sire to  break  with  her.  All  that,  he  had  calculated,  would 
bring  her  to  her  knees.  And  having  nerved  himself  for 
this  theatrical  coup,  it  was  disconcerting  to  have  her 
remain  calm,  even  disaffected. 

Alice  knew  him  better  than  he  suspected,  by  this  time ; 
she  had  developed  and  matured;  her  horizon  had  wid- 
ened, and  his  strategies,  once  so  effective  and  unanalyzed, 
were  now,  as  a  rule,  more  or  less  fluent  reading.  More- 
over, she  was  fully  convinced  of  his  deep  love  for  her, 
and  last  of  all,  had  she  not  decided  the  night  before  to 
yield  this  point  also? 

She  said,  "Go  on." 

"I  have  told  you  what  I  think,"  he  replied.  "I  would 
like  your  answer." 

"One  can  reply  only  to  questions.  You  have  asked  me 
none." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  307 

He  bit  his  lip  and  frowned,  and  she  continued: 

"Do  you  want  my  opinion  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  said  unevenly.  Apart  from  the  fact  that  de- 
feat would  be  humiliating,  it  would  precipitate  him  into 
marriage  which  he  wished  to  avoid. 

Alice  was  regarding  him  with  an  amused  little  air. 

"Do  you  know,  Ulrich,"  she  said  pleasantly,  "if  I  were 
less  convinced  of  your  love,  I  should  think  you  were 
choosing  a  graceful  way  of  letting  me  know  that  you 
were  tired  of  me.  However,  I  am  convinced  that  I 
am  quite  as  indispensable  to  your  happiness  as  you  are 
to  mine.  Then  why  this  ridiculous  little  lecture  that  you 
have  just  preached  to  me?  I'll  do  as  you  wish  about  an 
income,  or  an  allowance,  and  an  establishment  or  any- 
thing else,  of  course." 

That  "of  course"  tucked  neatly  at  the  end  of  her  sur- 
render stung  him  into  silent  fury.  He  made  a  brave 
effort  to  control  his  temper.  It  certainly  was  exas- 
perating to  have  her  add  this  "of  course"  so  diffidently, 
when  he  remembered  her  frequently  iterated  angry,  hot- 
blooded  asservations  of  "never." 

"You  won't  regret  it?"  he  asked  unsteadily. 

His  victory  had  come  to  him  so  easily  that  he  sus- 
pected it  was,  strictly  speaking,  no  victory  at  all,  merely 
a  conjunction  of  circumstance  and  mood,  and  the  terrific 
expenditure  of  energy  in  scheming  and  laying  his  snare 
for  her  now  appeared  utterly  absurd.  That  stung  him, 
too. 

"You  won't  regret  it?"  he  asked  again. 

"If  I  do,"  she  replied  with  a  droll  smile,  "I  will  not  let 
you  see  it.  And  that,  I  think,  is  all  that  can  be  of  in- 
terest to  you." 

She  had  spoken  without  bitterness,  meaning  to  be 
playful,  but,  after  all,  she  did  not  know  her  lover  quite 


308  THE    GREATER    JOY 

as  well  as  she  supposed.  There  was  in  his  nature,  under 
the  facile  worldliness  and  cynicism  which  became  him  so 
well,  a  substratum  of  fineness  and  delicacy  of  perception 
which  she  had  not  fathomed.  Also,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  self-willed,  self-indulgent  existence,  he  cared  suffi- 
ciently for  someone  to  be  seriously  hurt  by  an  unflat- 
tering estimate  of  himself. 

He  turned  very  pale.  Like  all  strong  natures,  he  be- 
came angry  when  hurt.  She  could  see  that  he  was  in 
one  of  his  Berserker  rages,  but  she  did  not  guess  the  ex- 
tent of  his  anger,  for  he  averted  his  eyes.  He  walked 
away  from  her,  fearing  to  say  some  irreparable  thing  in 
the  first  heat  of  anger.  It  flashed  upon  him  that,  for  the 
first  time,  it  was  comprehensible  to  him  how  a  man,  in 
a  fit  of  fury,  can  lay  the  whip  across  the  shoulders  of 
the  woman  he  loves.  With  his  back  to  her,  standing  at 
the  foot  end  of  the  bed,  he  strove  for  mastery  of  him- 
self. 

"Ulnch !"  she  called.    "Ulrich !"    But  he  did  not  turn. 

She  threw  back  the  covers,  and  kneeling  on  the  bed, 
caught  him  by  the  sleeve.  She  wound  one  soft  arm 
about  his,  and  placed  the  other  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Ulrich,  dear." 

He  came  one  step  nearer. 

"Lie  down,"  he  said  in  an  unnatural,  choked-up  voice. 
'The  window  is  open  right  back  of  you.  You  will  take 
cold  if  you  uncover  yourself  like  that." 

Gently  he  forced  her  back  into  bed,  and  covered  the 
woman  whom  a  moment  before  he  had  believed  himself 
capable  of  chastising. 

She  made  room  for  him  to  sit  on  the  edge  of  the  bed, 
but  he  resisted  her,  as  she  tried  to  pull  him  down,  and 
stood  before  her,  scarcely  less  forbidding  than  before. 
Her  heart  sank  within  her. 


THE    GREATER   JOY  309 

"Why  do  you  despise  me  so  ?"  he  blurted  forth  at  last. 

"Dearest,  I  don't  despise  you." 

She  realized  that  she  had  excoriated  him,  though  she 
did  not  know  how.  She  felt  abashed.  Until  now  she  had 
always  considered  herself  finer  fibred  than  he,  but  here 
she  was  unable  to  comprehend  why  he  was  taking  the 
whole  matter  so  absurdly  to  heart. 

Following  a  sudden  impulse,  she  stooped  down  and 
kissed  his  hand.    He  wrenched  it  away  from  her. 

"No,  Alice,  no,  it  is  my  place  to  kiss  your  hand,  not 
vour  place  to  kiss  mine." 

He  sat  down  on  the  bed  beside  her.  She  noticed  how 
haggard  and  tired  he  looked.  She  had  a  poignant 
sensation  that  some  day  he  would  be  old,  and  she  also, 
but  she  would  love  him  as  much  as  now,  perhaps 
more. 

"Alice,  you  don't  really  believe  that  if  yoti  are  dis- 
tressed it  matters  nothing  to  me?" 

"Of  course  not." 

"Why  did  you  say  it,  then?" 

"Goodness,  Ulrich — sheer  deviltry.  IVe  said  worse 
things  to  you  before,  haven't  I  ?" 

"Possibly,  but  I  hadn't  then  been  through  what  I  went 
through  last  night." 

All  his  pent-up  passion  and  distress  rose  in  a  sudden 
attack  of  emotion.  His  breath  became  labored.  His 
frame  was  shaken,  as  with  sobs.  His  self-control  was 
gone. 

Alice  averted  her  eyes.  It  did  not  seem  right  to  her 
that  she  should  see  him  thus  shaken  and  unhinged.  She 
wanted  to  help  him,  but  she  could  think  of  nothing  to  say 
or  do.  She  felt  that  she  would  like  to  kiss  him,  and 
soothe  him,  but  a  caress  seemed  trivial  at  such  a  moment. 
He  appeared  sacred  to  her  because  of  the  soul  which  he 


310  THE    GREATER    JOY 

had  so  suddenly  revealed.  The  tension  became  insup- 
portable.   She  sought  refuge  as  usual  in  playfulness. 

"Ulrich,  dear,  may  I  get  up  after  a  while?  Or  must 
I  remain  in  bed,  like  a  naughty  child  that  has  been 
spanked  ?" 

He  gave  her  a  wistful,  tender,  gentle  smile. 

"My  little  Puritan,"  he  said  softly. 

His  arms  opened,  and  quite  naturally  she  crept  into 
them,  and  lay  against  his  heart,  eyes  closed.  What  un- 
speakable bliss  it  was,  to  feel  his  arms  about  her  again ! 

He  bent  over  her,  and  whispered  in  her  ear : 

"Heaven?" 

"No,  Ulrich,  just  plain,  ordinary,  every-day  home." 

Their  lips  met.  Their  blood  surged  in  their  ears, 
roared  in  their  temples.  For  a  moment,  she  endured  his 
mouth — then  her  lips  parted.  Still  his  mouth  lingered 
— without  kissing — lingered. 


CHAPTER  XX 

On  the  night  of  the  ball,  before  retiring,  the  Hofmar- 
schall  sought  out  the  King.  The  King  suffered  from 
insomnia,  and  he  found  that  a  chat  at  midnight,  or  later, 
particularly  if  flavored  with  a  little  scandal,  was  con- 
ducive to  sleep.  The  Master  of  the  Ceremonies  entered 
the  Royal  apartment  on  tiptoe,  unannounced,  so  that,  if 
the  aged  potentate  was  asleep,  he  could  withdraw  with- 
out disturbing  him.  But  His  Majesty  was  awake,  and 
called  out  to  him  to  come  in. 

Von  Bardolph  was  particularly  anxious  to  speak  to  the 
King  that  night.  It  was  far  from  his  intention  to  ac- 
quaint his  sovereign,  for  whom  he  entertained  a  very 
sincere  and  loyal  devotion,  with  the  scandalous  state 
of  affairs  which  he  had  discovered,  and  with  the  infamy 
into  which  one  of  his  grandchildren  was  trying  to  drag 
the  other.  Resourceful,  crafty,  unhampered  by  squeam- 
ishness  of  conscience,  the  Hofmarschall  felt  himself  to  be 
quite  capable  of  coping  with  the  situation,  and  by  say- 
ing a  few  pretty  things  about  "the  fair  American"  that 
very  evening  to  King  Egon,  he  hoped  to  protect  himself 
against  suspicion,  should  Sylvia,  driven  to  desperation, 
turn  tale-bearer. 

"Excellenz,  is  it  you  ?"  asked  the  King. 

"Yes,  your  Majesty." 

"I  have  been  awake  for  an  hour,  Wilhelm,"  said  the 
monarch.  In  private  these  two  addressed  each  other  as 
in  their  college  days,  without  formality  or  ceremony ;  "I 

311 


313  THE    GREATER    JOY 

was  sure  you  would  have  something  to  tell  me,  and  so  I 
tried  to  keep  awake.    Well  ?" 

"You  still  have  something  to  live  for,"  responded  the 
Hofmarschall,  "the  pleasure  to  be  derived  from  looking 
at  this  new  importation  of  Ulricas  is  worth  a  year  of 
gout." 

"And  at  your  age,  Wilhelm  ?"  said  the  King  tauntingly. 

"My  pleasure  was  purely  aesthetic.  No,  that  is  not 
true." 

"Now  for  a  shameless  confession,"  smiled  the  old  King 
banteringly. 

The  Hofmarschall  continued: 

"It  was  not  purely  aesthetic,  because  it  was  partially 
mental.  The  young  lady  is  not  only  the  most  beautiful 
woman  I  have  ever  seen,  but  is  capable  of  delivering  as 
stinging  a  repartee  as  you  yourself  might  have  desired, 
in  your  prime." 

"I  must  have  her  here,"  exclaimed  the  King  eagerly. 
"As  soon  as  I  may  use  my  eyes  a  little,  I  must  have  her 
here." 

"I  have  been  thinking,"  said  the  Hofmarschall  pen- 
sively, "that  it  is  well  for  the  honor  of  your  house  that 
the  late  lamented  Joachim,  your  brother,  is  no  longer 
alive." 

"Why?" 

"Seeing  her,  I  think  he  would  have  assassinated  Ul- 
rich,"  said  von  Bardolph  quietly. 

The  King  guffawed.  "I  hope,"  he  said,  "that  you  do 
not  compare  Ulrich  and  that  godless  old  libertine,  Joa- 
chim. But  to  be  frank  with  you,  Wilhelm,  you  seem  a 
bit  smitten  yourself." 

"Alas,  no,"  retorted  Excellenz,  "but  I  shall  sedulously 
pretend  to  be.  At  my  age  the  blood  no  longer  responds 
to  the  call  of  the  aesthetic  sense,  but  memory  remains, 


THE    GREATER    JOY  613 

and  the  aesthetic  sense  being  stimulated  and  tickled,  we 
old  men,  out  of  vanity,  must  simulate  an  infatuation 
which  we  are  no  longer  capable  of  experiencing." 

A  few  days  later,  Alice  was  summoned  to  appear  be- 
fore the  King.  The  introduction  had  been  postponed 
again  and  again,  because  of  His  Majesty's*  poor  health 
and  failing  eyesight.  It  was  an  informal  morning  audi- 
ence, and  it  was  Princess  Sylvia  who  presented  the 
American,  much  to  the  mortification  of  von  Bardolph, 
who  had  hoped  to  deliver  some  barbed  sentence  along 
with  the  introduction  that  would  prick  and  stick  like  a 
burr. 

The  King,  standing  in  the  embrasure  of  one  of  the  tall, 
curtained  windows,  regarded  Alice  earnestly. 

"Ah,"  he  said  at  last,  "the  Hofmarschall  did  not  warn 
me  sufficiently.  My  physician,  you  must  know,  cautioned 
me  against  looking  at  the  sun  or  at  anything  of  like 
radiance." 

"Your  Majesty  should  remember,"  Alice  rejoined,  "that 
such  a  similar  radiance  may  be  akin  to  the  poor  radiance 
of  the  moon,  shining  merely  with  a  light  reflected  by  the 
sun  of  this  country,  your  own  kind  heart." 

"You  are  charming,  my  dear,"  exclaimed  the  King, 
paternally  patting  her  shoulder,  and  he  bade  her  come 
and  see  him  often,  unless  indeed,  it  would  be  too  much 
of  a  bore  for  her  to  sit  an  hour  or  so  occasionally  with 
a  lonely,  sick  old  man. 

And  so  it  happened  that  many  a  morning  after  that, 
Alice  sat  at  the  side  of  the  huge  arm-chair  of  the  King, 
or  at  his  bedside,  on  such  mornings  when  he  was  too  ill 
to  leave  his  bed.  She  had  dreaded  this  audience.  She 
found,  in  his  own  words,  a  sick,  lonely,  old  man,  and 
there  was  something  infinitely  pathetic  to  her  in  the 
figure   of   the   half-blind,    slowly    dying   monarch,    sur- 


314  THE    GREATER    JOY 

rounded  by  every  luxury  that  money  could  buy,  by  every 
deference  and  civility  that  his  rank  could  impose. 

Some  mornings  he  spoke  about  himself,  his  life,  his 
youth.  He  had  been  anxious  to  travel,  he  said,  but  in  his 
day  Court  etiquette  had  hedged  about  a  prince  more  rig- 
idly than  now.  He  envied  Ulrich  his  opportunity  of  vis- 
iting the  great,  wonderful  country  beyond  the  sea.  He 
envied  Ulrich  other  things  as  well.  He  did  not  specify 
what  these  "other  things"  were,  but  he  looked  at  Alice  as 
keenly  as  his  poor,  rheumy,  bleary  eyes  would  permit  him 
to  do.  And  the  girl,  seeing  that  look  of  penetration,  half 
believed  that  he  suspected  the  truth. 

Other  mornings  she  read  to  him.  He  was  a  fairly  good 
English  scholar,  and  he  loved  Shakespeare,  and  it  was 
from  the  immortal  pages  of  "Hamlet"  or  "Midsummer 
Nights  Dream"  that  he  bade  her  read  oftenest. 

Ulrich  was  looking  about  meanwhile  for  her  "establish- 
ment." Alice,  in  all  simplicity,  had  imagined  he  would 
furnish  some  comfortable  elevator  apartment  of  six  or 
seven  rooms  for  her,  but  when  she  mentioned  a  very  at- 
tractive apartment  house  in  the  Grosse  Opernstrasse  Ul- 
rich looked  at  her  in  such  evident  and  disapproving 
amazement  that,  chagrined,  she  felt  she  had  at  last  said 
the  impossibly  blatant  and  crude  thing. 

Nothing  less  than  a  "villa"  would  do  her,  it  seemed, 
a  villa  being  the  equivalent  or  nearly  so  for  the  English 
"cottage"  in  so  far  as  that  much-abused  word  is  used  to 
denote  three-story  mansions  with  colonnaded  fronts,  built 
of  sandstone  or  granite  or  marble.  It  was  not  an  easy 
matter,  however,  to  find  a  suitable  "villa."  Some  were 
too  small,  some  too  large,  some  too  far  from  the  Neues 
Palais,  others  too  near  the  heart  of  the  city.  There  was 
one  villa  which  would  have  suited  them  both,  although  its 
grounds  were  so  spacious,  so  magnificent  its  equipmen 


THE    GREATER    JOY  815 

and  exterior  that  Alice  had  no  notion  that  Ulrich  would 
rent  it.    He  became  cross  whenever  they  passed  it. 

"Confound  it,"  he  would  say,  "Banker  Seligmann  can 
afford  that  sort  of  a  mansion  for  each  of  his  eight  daugh- 
ters— the  youngest  one  receives  this  palace  as  part  of  her 
dower — and  I  cannot  get  you  anything  nearly  as  nice." 

Alice  soothed  him : 

"Love  is  content  with  a  crust  in  a  hut,"  she  said. 

He  quoted  maliciously: 

"Love  in  a  hut  with  water  and  a  crust, 
Is,  love  forgive  me,  cinders,  ashes,  dust." 

"Would  you  have  loved  me  less,  Ulrich,"  she  said,  in 
a  woebegone  way,  "if  we  were  a  poor,  young  couple, 
who  had  to  do  without  sugar  and  butter  to  make  two 
ends  meet?" 

"I  don't  think  I  would  have  minded  the  sugar  and 
butter,"  he  said  dryly,  "but,  oh,  what  can  life  mean 
without  a  valet  to  prepare  one's  bath,  and  without  one's 
especial  blend  of  cigarettes  ?" 

"I  have  never  had  a  maid  to  prepare  my  bath,"  said 
Alice  humbly. 

"You  shall  have  one  very  soon,  my  dear,  and  you  will 
find  what  a  zest  it  adds  to  life  not  to  have  to  think  of  the 
wearisome  details  of  living." 

Alice  said  nothing.  A  sudden  wave  of  recollection 
came  rolling  over  her,  submerged  her.  She  remembered 
that  first  luncheon  with  him  in  New  York.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  she  had  grown  many  years  older  since  that  day, 
and  yet  barely  six  months  had  elapsed.  If  anyone  had 
then  prophesied  that  she  would  consent  to  a  liaison  with 
this  dashing  foreigner,  leave  her  friends,  her  work,  her 
future — everything,  in  fact,  for  his  sake,  she  would  have 
accused  him  of  lunacy. 


316  THE    GREATER    JOY 

When  Ulrich  came  that  evening,  he  handed  her  a  large 
box  of  bonbons.  She  thanked  him,  somewhat  surprised 
that  he  brought  her  such  a  quantity  of  sweets,  of  which 
he  did  not  approve.  She  did  not  open  the  package  at 
once,  and  he  said  to  her : 

"Won't  you  open  the  candy?" 

She  untied  it.  A  bankbook  lay  at  the  top  of  the  box. 
Opening  it,  she  gave  a  little  gasp  of  surprise.  He  had 
deposited  a  quarter  of  a  million  of  marks  in  her  name. 

"Ulrich,   dear,  I  thank  you,  of  course,  but  it  is,  it 

is "     She  stopped,  fearing  to  relapse  into  maudlin 

blatancy. 

He  was  standing  two  feet  away  from  her  in  the  court- 
liest of  attitudes. 

"You  didn't  suppose,"  he  said  gently,  "that  I  would 
humiliate  you  by  asking  you  to  accept  trifling  amounts, 
piecemeal,  did  you  ?  We  will  have  to  discuss  this  money 
matter  at  some  time,  so  supposing  we  go  at  it  now  and 
get  through  with  it.  The  amount  deposited  in  your 
name  will  last  you  for  the  defraying  of  clothes,  servants' 
wages,  butchers'  and  grocers'  bills,  incidentals  and  per- 
sonal expenses,  for  approximately  a  year.  The  rental  I 
will  pay  in  bulk,  as  soon  as  we  have  found  a  proper  loca- 
tion. Before  the  funds  are  exhausted,  a  new  deposit 
will  be  made.  All  this  will  be  attended  to  automatically. 
You  need  not  worry  about  overdrawing  the  account. 
Use  as  much  as  you  please,  dear ;  spend  money  foolishly ; 
nothing  would  please  me  better.    That's  all." 

With  the  bankbook  in  her  hand,  she  crossed  to  him, 
and  sat  down  beside  him  on  the  couch. 

"A  quarter  of  a  million  marks,  Ulrich,"  she  said  in  a 
bewildered,  awed  way.  "That's  fifty-six  thousand  dol- 
lars.   And  you  expect  me  to  spend  that  in  a  year?" 

He  laughed. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  517 

"I  expect,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "that  by  and  by  you  will 
be  complaining  of  the  beggarly  pittance  that  I  allow 
you." 

She  shook  her  head  quite  seriously. 

"I  do  not  know  how  to  thank  you,  Ulrich,"  she  said. 
"Of  course  I  knew  you  were  going  to  treat  me  liberally, 
but  I  didn't  anticipate  you  would  be  quite  so  generous." 

After  she  had  spoken,  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  words 
were  stilted  and  ill-chosen,  and  that  they  must  appear 
cold  and  unappreciative  to  him.  She  should  at  least  say 
something  about  his  delicacy.  But  try  as  she  would,  she 
could  not  find  the  right  words.  Eyes  averted,  she  sat 
beside  him  in  helpless  dejection,  hoping  he  would  come 
to  her  rescue  in  some  way.  And  to  add  to  her  misery, 
she  remembered  that  one  of  Balzac's  Dues  brought  his 
mistress  her  quarterly  allowance  in  a  bag  of  sweetmeats. 
If  Ulrich  had  plagiarized,  he  had  done  so  unconsciously; 
but  his  delicacy  now  seemed  specious  and  over-subtle. 
Had  she  been  his  wife,  would  he  have  given  her  the 
book  in  just  that  way? 

She  heard  him  laugh,  and  it  brought  her  back  to  the 
situation  with  a  start. 

"How  unhappy  we  look !"  he  said  coaxingly.  "Is  it  so 
very  dreadful  to  be  asked  to  spend  fifty-six  thousand  dol- 
lars a  year  just  as  you  please?" 

He  encircled  her  with  his  arms.  Glad  to  escape  from 
the  scrutiny  of  his  eyes,  she  sought  her  usual  refuge  on 
his  shoulder. 

"You're  going  to  be  sensible,  dearest,  aren't  you?"  he 
asked  anxiously.  "I  want  you  to  be  just  riotously  ex- 
travagant, a  new  bonnet  every  day,  a  new  gown  for 
every  third  day  in  the  week.  Nothing  would  give  me 
more  pleasure  than  if  you  were  to  send  me  extra  bills 
from  dressmaker  and  milliner.     If  you  do  not  spend  at 


318  THE    GREATER    JOY 

least  fifty  thousand  marks  within  a  month,  I  shall  be 
deeply  hurt." 

If  she  had  looked  at  his  face,  she  would  have  seen  that 
he  was  teasing  her.  But  her  face  was  hidden  against 
his  shoulder,  and  she  walked  beautifully  into  the  trap. 

"Fifty  thousand  marks  a  month  would  be  out  of  all 
proportion,  Ulrich  dear,"  she  said  naively,  "if  the  quarter 
of  a  million  is  to  last  a  year." 

"Is  to  last  a  year?"  His  merriment  was  catching.  "If 
the  beggarly  pittance  is  to  last  a  year!  My  prophecy 
has  come  true  even  now." 

He  was  laughing  joyously,  boyishly. 

"Ulrich  dear,  you  are  so  silly."  She  looked  at  him 
adoringly.  "Dearest,  dearest,  I  think  you  are  quite  the 
nicest  creature  that  God  ever  made." 

With  mock  gravity  he  remonstrated. 

"Oh,  foolish  little  maiden!  Where  is  the  wisdom  of 
Balzac,  of  Maupassant,  of  Daudet?  Have  the  words  of 
the  three  sages  most  deeply  versed  in  love  profited 
you  nothing?  Will  you  insist  upon  boring  to  death  him 
whom  your  charm  has  lured,  by  meaningless  iteration  of 
'I  love  you  ?'  " 

"Yes,  I  will,"  she  said  mischievously,  with  pretty  defi- 
ance.   "I'll  say  it  as  often  as  I  please.    I  will,  I  will." 

Early  the  next  morning  Ulrich  telephoned  her.  He 
had  just  heard  at  the  Clinic  of  a  very  large  and  com- 
modious apartment,  occupying  two  floors,  which  the 
lessee  desired  to  sub-let  for  six  months.  Would  she  go 
and  look  at  it  at  once  ?  He,  of  course,  could  not  appear  in 
the  transaction  at  all,  nor  could  he  go  to  look  at  the 
rooms,  and  he  cautioned  her  about  pantry,  kitchen,  serv- 
ants' chambers  and  reception  room  to  such  an  extent  that 
she  felt  this  to  be  the  most  monumental  undertaking  on 
which  she  had  ever  embarked. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  319 

Ulrich  came  early  in  the  afternoon. 

"Well?"  he  asked  eagerly.    "Will  the  apartment  do?" 

Alice  sat  regarding  him  apparently  lost  in  deep  medi- 
tation. She  was  brimful  of  mischief.  Moreover,  she  had 
thoroughly  enjoyed  her  morning.  It  had  been  quite  de- 
lightful to  motor  up  to  the  swell  hotel,  for  Ulrich  had 
sent  her  an  automobile,  and  to  have  one  flunkey  open  the 
automobile  door  and  another  swing  open  the  hotel  gate 
for  her,  to  be  ushered  into  marvellously  beautiful  rooms 
wondrously  furnished  and  to  play  the  wealthy  woman  of 
the  world  in  conversing  with  the  Frau  Kommerzienrath 
who  had  offered  her  gorgeous  rooms  to  a  six  months' 
lessee — kitchen  utensils,  Art  Nouveau  furniture,  Li- 
moges china,  Sevres  vases  and  all. 

"Of  course,"  the  lady  had  said  apologetically,  "we 
would  have  to  ask  some  sort  of  reference  of  you,  as  we 
are  leaving  our  art  treasures  here  with  you." 

"Naturally."  Alice  handed  her  card  to  the  Frau  Kom- 
merzienrath. "I  can  refer  you  to  Princess  Sylvia — you 
had  better  address  Frau  von  Schwellenberg  in  writing." 

Upon  hearing  those  magic  words,  "Princess  Sylvia," 
the  excellent  Frau  Kommerzienrath,  aristocratic  soul 
that  she  was,  had  almost  kow-towed  to  Alice. 

"If  I  had  understood  your  name,"  she  assured  her,  "I 
would  never  have  asked  to  be  referred  to  anyone.  Every- 
body knows  you  are  a  friend  of  the  Princess." 

All  this  had  vastly  amused  the  girl,  and  the  copious 
flow  of  information  with  which  the  lady  of  the  house 
had  regaled  her  after  this  little  episode,  had  opened  her 
eyes  to  a  good  many  contingencies  of  housekeeping  and 
living  on  the  magnificent  scale  which  would  now  be  re- 
quired of  her,  of  which  she  had  not  dreamed  a  half  hour 
before. 

She  was  prepared,  at  any  rate,  to  amuse  herself  at  Ul- 


mo  THE    GREATER    JOY 

rich's  cost.  Seemingly  sedate  and  grave  and  conscien- 
tious, she  was  fairly  overflowing  with  mischievousness. 

"There  are,"  she  said,  "fourteen  rooms,  besides  kitchen 
and  three  baths.  And  the  servants'  chambers.  I  think 
the  apartment  may  do  as  well  as  any  other." 

"May  do?"  he  asked  a  bit  impatiently.  "Why  may  do  ? 
Are  the  rooms  not  desirable  ?  They  were  represented  to 
me  as  particularly  attractive." 

Alice  turned  up  her  nose. 

"The  music-room  and  library  open  on  an  air  shaft," 
she  said  tolerantly.     "Of  course  the  air  shaft  is  big." 

Ulrich  was  nonplussed. 

"It  must  be  big,"  he  said,  "it's  more  of  a  court-yard 
than  an  air  shaft.  I  understand  they  have  palms  and 
rubber  plants,  big  ones,  and  ferns  and  all  sorts  of  green 
stuff  there  from  spring  right  through  into  winter." 

"Yes,  I  believe  I  did  see  a  few  potted  plants,"  said 
Alice  diffidently."  The  color  mounted  to  his  cheeks,  and 
his  companion  all  but  betrayed  herself. 

"The  servants'  quarters  are  the  real  problem,"  she  con- 
tinued, swallowing  her  mirth  at  Ulrich's  discomfiture. 
"They  will  hold  only  six  servants  comfortably,  although 
the  present  tenant  says  one  can  manage  to  squeeze  eight 
persons  into  them." 

Ulrich  leaned  back  and  folded  his  arms  in  hopeless 
bewilderment. 

"And  pray,"  he  said,  "how  many  servants  had  you 
intended  retaining  in  an  apartment?" 

Alice's  gravity  almost  collapsed  like  a  pricked  balloon 
oeneath  that  awful  gaze  of  stern  disapproval  of  her  sud- 
den sumptuary  desires. 

"I  don't  see,  dear,"  she  said  in  the  insincerest  of  tones, 
the  tone  which  an  injured  wife  is  expected  to  expostu- 
late in,  "how  I  can  do  with  less  than  ten." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  3£1 

Ulrich  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  mixed  with  incredulity. 

"You  are  learning  rapidly,  Alice,"  he  said,  not  wholly 
pleased.    "How  do  you  make  it  ten?" 

"Ten  and  my  maid.  The  maid,  of  course,  sleeps  on 
the  bedroom  floor  with  me,  so  as  to  be  within  beck  and 
call." 

"Yes,  of  course,  but  the  other  ten  ?"  His  patience  was 
wearing  thin. 

"The  cook,  the  cook's  helper,  the  dishwasher  and 
cleaner,  parlor-maid,  chamber-maid,  coachman,  groom 
and  three  lackeys,"  said  Alice  triumphantly.  "And  then, 
of  course,  an  extra  room  for  the  chauffeur." 

"Three  lackeys  in  an  apartment?"  The  comic  horror 
expressed  in  Ulrich's  face  was  good  to  behold.  "Selig- 
mann's  daughter  in  her  villa  of  thirty-six  rooms  will  not 
have  more  than  four." 

Alice's  mirth  would  be  suppressed  no  longer. 

With  a  serpentine  twist  of  her  lithe  body,  she  seated 
herself  on  his  knee. 

"You  sweet,  dear,  big  stupid  goose,"  she  said,  and  be- 
gan humming  the  tune,  "I  was  teasing,  teasing,  I  was 
only  teasing  you." 

He  looked  at  her  wearily. 

She  took  his  head  in  her  arms,  and  crushed  his  face 
against  her  bosom  until  he  was  almost  suffocated. 

"Alice,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  Will  you  kindly 
answer  a  sensible  question  like  a  sane  person?" 

Another  serpentine  twist  of  her  agile,  graceful  form, 
and  she  was  sitting  in  the  furthest  corner  of  the  settee. 

"I  am  quite  sane  now,"  she  announced.  "What  is  it 
you  wish  to  know  ?" 

The  sense  of  her  beauty,  the  soft,  sweet  sensation  her 
strong  young  arms  had  left  upon  his  cheek  suddenly 
went  to  his  head. 


S22  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"I  love  you,  I  love  you,"  he  stammered  incoherently. 

"And  I  love  you,  dear,"  she  said  placidly,  kissing  his 
brow.  "The  apartment  is  charming,  ideal.  We  couldn't 
find  a  finer  one.  The  reception  rooms  are  large  enough 
for  a  small  affair.  For  larger  receptions,  more  than  a 
hundred  persons,  Frau  Kommerzienrath  tells  me  all  the 
tenants  use  one  of  the  private  ballrooms  attached  to  the 
house." 

"Then  you  will  take  it?" 

"Yes,  if  the  rental  isn't  too  high.  Besides,  they  insist 
on  my — our  taking  it  for  six  months.  What  will  we  do 
if  you  find  a  suitable  house  in  the  meantime?  I  really 
think  the  apartment  is  so  suitable  that  we  shall  not  need 
to  find  a  house." 

"You  must  leave  that  to  me,  Alice." 

"I  know,  dear,  I  do  leave  it  to  you,  of  course.  I  was 
thinking  of  the  expense.  This  apartment  will  cost  you 
quite  enough.  A  house  with  a  larger  retinue  of  serv- 
ants will  cost  you  a  frightful  sum." 

"The  expense  is  my  affair,  not  yours." 

"Very  well,"  she  said  meekly. 

"Look  here,  Alice,  you're  not  going  to  reopen  that  sub- 
ject, are  you?" 

"Ulrich  dear,  you  are  so  unreasonable.  You  didn't 
like  it  one  little  bit,  did  you,  a  minute  ago,  when  I  pre- 
tended to  want  an  army  of  lackeys?" 

"My  dear  child,"  he  said  weakly,  "I  was  surprised, 
amazed — you  didn't  seem  yourself  when  you  began  put- 
ting on  such  airs.  Besides,  it  is  much  better  for  you  to 
break  yourself  in  with  a  moderate-sized  menage,  with 
six  or  seven  servants,  before  tackling  a  bigger  under- 
taking." 

"I  have  a  lot  to  learn,"  she  said  tentatively. 

"You  have,  but  you  are  clever,  and  have  a  marvellous 


THE    GREATER    JOY  323 

capacity  for  assimilation.  You  will  learn  all  there  is 
to  know  in  a  few  months'  time." 

"But  what  shall  we  do,  Ulrich,  if  you  find  a  house  in 
the  meantime,  before  the  six  months  are  up?" 

He  laughed  gaily. 

"What  a  little  simpleton  you  are!"  he  said.  "I  shall 
consider  ourselves  very  lucky  if  we  manage  to  find  a  suit- 
able villa  and  contrive  to  get  it  furnished,  all  in  six 
months." 

Her  next  sentence  left  him  breathless  with  astonish- 
ment, brought  it  home  to  him  forcibly  that  after  all,  she 
was  very  young. 

"Ulrich  dearest,  there  is  one  thing  I  want  so  badly — 
please  say  I  may  have  it,  and  don't  laugh  at  me.  I  want 
the  lackeys  to  have  liveries  of  red  plush  all  laced  with 
gold  braid.     May  I?    Please  say  'yes.'     Be  nice." 

Ulrich  could  not  suppress  his  amusement. 

"Good  Lord,  child,  where  did  you  get  that  notion  ?" 

"Oh,  Ulrich,  I  just  love  the  plush  liveries  the  lackeys 
wear  at  the  Koenigliches  Palais" 

"But  those  are  yellow,  not  red." 

"Where's  the  difference?" 

"Surely  you're  not  color-blind,  Alice?" 

"Then  I  can't  have  the  red  plush  liveries?" 

He  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it.  He  did  not  wish  to 
spoil  her  pleasure  by  brutally  criticizing  any  little  plan, 
no  matter  how  foolish,  which  she  might  have  made. 

"Dear  little  girl,"  he  said  tenderly,  "it  is  your  menage, 
and  you  may  buy,  and  arrange,  and  furnish  as  you 
please." 

"But  I  want  your  advice,  Ulrich." 

"Well,  then,  as  you  are  an  American,  a  rich  American, 
as  you  will  please  remember,  who  has  been  accustomed  to 
luxury  and  high  living  all  her  life,  would  it  not  be  more 


324  THE    GREATER    JOY 

natural  for  you  to  dress  your  servants  in  the  style  to 
which  you  have  been  accustomed  always,  and  which,  of 
course,  is  American,  not  European?  A  dark  green  or 
dark  blue  livery  would  be  more  in  keeping  with  your 
character,  wouldn't  it?" 

"How  clever  you  are,  Ulrich!"  she  said  admiringly. 
She  looked  at  him  a  little  enviously.  "I  wish  I  had 
thought  of  that  point.  It's  a  very  good  one.  Yes,  by 
all  means,  dark  green,  bottle-green  liveries.  And  here  is 
something  you  haven't  thought  of." 

The  graceful  curves  of  her  body  once  more  had  re- 
laxed, contracted,  leaving  her,  inexplicably  propelled, 
upon  his  knee. 

"I  think  so  much  better  when  I'm  on  your  knee,"  she 
said  demurely,  kittenishly. 

"And  pray,  how  does  sitting  on  my  knee  facilitate  your 
mental  process?"  he  asked  sardonically. 

"Brings  me  into  closer  contact  with  your  august  men- 
tality," was  her  laconic  reply.  "Magnetic  current  from 
you  to  me." 

"What's  the  point  you  thought  of?" 

"Strictly  speaking,  you  folks  over  here,  Ulrich,  have 
no  butlers.  Now  I'm  going  to  have  a  butler,  a  real  Eng- 
lish butler,  such  as  you  read  about  in  books,  and  I'm 
going  to  get  him  from  London  just  as  soon  as  you  can 
lay  hands  on  him." 

"The  very  thing,"  cried  Ulrich  enthusiastically. 
"There's  the  Duke  of  Gilvarney.  He's  going  to  Africa, 
lion-hunting.  His  butler  has  been  with  him  for  years, 
and  as  the  Duke  is  breaking  up  his  establishment,  we  may 
be  able  to  get  him." 

"Is  the  Duke  a  friend  of  yours?"  asked  Alice. 

"Yes,  dear,  a  very  good  friend.  Blinkins  is  the  man  for 
you.    I'll  write  Gilvarney  to-morrow." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  S£5 

"Is  the  Duke  a — a — respectable  person,  Ulrich  ?" 

"My  dear  girl,  what  a  question — of  course  he's  re- 
spectable." 

She  looked  at  him  with  large,  wide-open  eyes.  He 
read  the  question  in  them  which  she  had  not  the  courage 
to  frame  in  words. 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  of  course  Blinkins  will  come — if  he's 
paid  enough.  Alice  dear,  you  will  have  to  quit  worrying 
on  that  score." 

"I'm  not  worrying  on  that  score,  or  on  any  other.  I'm 
enjoying  myself  immensely.  I'm  going  to  like  being  rich, 
.Ulrich." 

"Of  course  you  are." 

"And  it's  so  much  more  picturesque  than  being  poor. 
I've  been  thinking  things  over,  Ulrich.  If  there's  only  a 
little  money,  it  is  manifestly  the  woman's  duty  to  make 
the  most  of  it.  So,  conversely,  it  must  be  her  duty  to 
make  the  most  of  much  money.  That's  what  I'm  going 
to  do." 

He  kissed  her  passionately.  But  she  did  not  tell  him, 
as  he  caressed  and  crushed  her,  that  her  envisagement  of 
the  new  world  into  whose  maze  she  had  wandered  had 
taught  her  the  priceless  bit  of  worldly  wisdom  that  while 
a  man  may  forgive  the  woman  who  cannot  live  down  to 
small  means,  he  will  unconditionally  despise  the  woman 
who  cannot  live  up  to  a  big  income. 

So  Blinkins  was  sent  for,  servants  were  engaged,  the 
apartment  taken  possession  of,  the  bottle-green  liveries 
ordered.  But  before  Alice  had  had  a  chance  to  enjoy  all 
her  new  grandeur,  something  had  occurred  that  put  the 
exigencies  of  wealth  out  of  her  mind. 

There  had  been  a  frightful  accident  in  a  coal-mine, 
and  every  available  nurse  and  physician  was  rushed  to 
the  spot.     Ulrich  went  as  a  matter  of  course,  both  in 


326  THE    GREATER    JOY 

his  capacity  of  physician  and  as  the  personal  representa- 
tive of  the  King.  Alice  begged  and  implored  him  to  be 
allowed  to  go.  She  expected  a  refusal;  to  her  surprise 
he  acquiesced  almost  immediately. 

She  had  loved  him  before,  but  seeing  his  tenderness, 
his  patience,  his  endurance  under  great  bodily  fatigue  as 
he  moved  about  among  the  dead  and  the  maimed,  there 
came  moments  to  her  when  her  pride  in  him  became  so 
rampant  that  she  thought  she  must  stand  up  and  cry 
out  loud,  "That  man  whom  you  all  love  because  of  his 
goodness  and  efficiency  is  mine,  mine,  mine!"  And  even 
the  misery  and  suffering  which  she  witnessed  could  not 
dampen  her  spirits.  /Is  there  not  some  subtle  virtue  in 
love,  some  balsam  from  the  spiritual  world,  that  makes 
the  heart  that  harbors  it  impervious  to  the  ills  of  the 
world?  1 

Nor  did  Alice  spare  herself.  Ulrich,  who  had  looked 
upon  her  as  a  fragile  human  blossom,  marvelled  at  her 
physical  stamina  and  steady  nerves. 

They  returned — separately — in  a  fortnight.  Alice,  ut- 
terly exhausted,  remained  in  bed  for  forty-eight  hours, 
of  which  she  slept  thirty-six.  The  next  morning  she 
dressed  herself  with  the  utmost  care,  intending  to  pre- 
sent herself  in  the  King's  anteroom.  She  had  not  yet 
finished  her  breakfast  of  chocolate  and  rolls,  when  her 
maid  announced  the  Hofmarschall. 

Alice  received  him  with  conflicting  emotions.  It  was 
apparent  that  he  desired  to  appear  very  friendly,  but  the 
malice  which  informed  him  would  out ;  cupidity  and  sly- 
ness were  in  his  eyes,  and  the  girl,  regarding  him,  felt  an 
intense  hatred  for  this  man  sweep  over  her,  a  hatred  so 
fierce  that  it  amounted  almost  to  physical  loathing.  He 
stood  before  her  in  an  attitude  of  utmost  deference. 

"I  have  the  honor,"  he  said,  "to  be  sent  to  you  as  mes- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  327 

senger  of  his  gracious  majesty,  King  Egon.  In  recogni- 
tion of  your  admirable  service  during  the  past  fortnight, 
the  King  desires  to  bestow  upon  you  the  title  of  Countess 
of  Gortza,  which  has  recently  fallen  vacant  through  the 
death  of  the  last  incumbent.  The  title  carries  with  it  a 
moderate  income,  about  five  thousand  marks  a  year.  His 
majesty  desires  you  to  present  yourself  at  eleven  this 
morning  for  an  audience,  when  it  will  be  his  pleasure  to 
formally  bestow  and  confirm  the  title/' 

The  little  man  paused  for  a  moment,  then  continued 
smoothly,  "I  trust  I  may  be  the  first  to  salute  you  as 
Countess  of  Gortza,  as  I  shall  virtually  be  the  last  person 
to  call  you  by  your  present  name,  Miss  Vaughn."  He 
bowed  profoundly,  then  advanced,  kissing  her  finger-tips. 

Alice  was  surprised  at  her  own  fluency  and  composure 
in  making  her  acknowledgment.  When  she  had  finished, 
the  Hofmarschall  said: 

"It  is  only  fair  to  apprize  you,  Miss  Vaughn,  that  the 
suggestion  to  give  you  this  patent  of  nobility  emanated 
from  Prince  Ulrich.  So  at  least  I  inferred  as  I  was  called 
to  the  King's  chamber  immediately  after  the  Prince  had 
left  him." 

Alice,  believing  silence  to  be  best,  said  nothing.  The 
Hofmarschall  concluded : 

"You  yourself  will  know  in  what  way  his  Highness  will 
prefer  to  have  you  indemnify  him  for  this  kindness." 

The  words  were  as  nearly  a  sneer  as  words  can  be. 
Alice  pretended  to  misunderstand  this  innuendo. 

"I  shall  certainly  express  my  appreciation  of  his  kind- 
ness to  the  Prince,"  she  said.  "I  am  greatly  pleased  to 
think  my  poor  services  were  sufficiently  valuable  to  de- 
serve his  gracious  attention  and  comment." 

It  was  only  after  the  "odious  little  animal"  was  gone, 
that  the   full   import  of  his   visit   dawned  upon  Alice. 


328  THE    GREATER    JOY 

Countess  von  Gortza!  For  what?  For  nursing  some 
wounded  and  mangled  men.  Other  nurses  had  done  the 
same,  yet  none  but  herself,  she  knew,  would  receive  a 
title  in  return  for  her  services.  Frau  von  Schwellen- 
berg's  prophecy  had  come  true. 

She  grew  hot  and  cold  in  quick  alternation.  How 
could  Ulrich  do  this  thing?  He  must  have  known  that 
it  would  make  her  disastrously  conspicuous.  But  she 
had  no  time  to  waste  in  idle  meditation,  and  as  she  hur- 
riedly slipped  into  her  coat  and  furs,  a  little  sense  of  ela- 
tion came  over  her.  After  all,  it  was  a  fine  thing  to 
receive  a  title,  though  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  Repub- 
lic, and  she  could  not  help  feeling  delighted  at  being 
summoned  to  the  King  to  be  invested  with  her  new  honor. 
Suddenly  it  occurred  to  her  that  as  Countess  von  Gortza 
she  would  outrank  Madame  von  Hess,  whose  husband 
was  only  a  baron.  After  that  Alice  forgot  all  about  the 
undesirable  eminence  into  which  she  was  about  to  be 
thrust.  All  she  could  think  of  was  that  some  day  she  and 
the  Baroness  would  meet  at  a  door,  and  that  then  the 
Baroness  would  have  to  step  aside  and  allow  her,  because 
of  her  superior  rank,  to  enter  first  into  the  room. 

She  became  foolishly,  exultantly  happy.  The  next 
week  she  and  Sylvia  were  going  to  Paris.  She  had  or- 
dered two  new  ball  gowns  at  Paquin's  and  one  at 
(Worth's,  and  she  and  the  Princess  were  going  to  spend 
two  days  together  being  fitted  and  shopping.  Sylvia  was 
treating  her  superbly.  She  showed  no  surprise  at  the 
sudden  desire  for  lavishness  in  clothes  on  Alice's  part, 
and  was  quite  ready  to  accompany  her  to  Paris,  for  it 
was  Alice  who  had  suggested  the  trip. 

While  she  was  getting  ready,  she  remembered  the  de- 
tails of  the  ball  gowns.  The  one  she  was  in  doubt  about 
*— she  might  ask  Paquin  to  take  it  back.     The  Worth 


THE    GREATER    JOY  329 

gown  was  iridescent  gauze  festooned  with  tiny  rosettes 
of  gold  braid.  She  remembered  the  carpet  of  gold-fish 
skin  which  Ulrich  had  spread  in  her  honor  on  her  bridal 
night.  He  would  be  sure  to  remember  that  when  he 
saw  the  dress,  and  she  was  certain  he  would  like  it.  The 
third  gown  was  a  chef  d'ceuvre.  Sylvia  had  really  wanted 
it  for  herself,  but  seeing  how  delighted  Alice  was  with 
it,  she  had  offered  to  stand  back,  saying  that  it  would 
become  her  very  much  better  than  herself.  Alice  doubted 
this,  but  in  spite  of  her  pale  coloring,  she  had  always 
looked  well  in  white,  and  Ulrich  had  frequently  said  that 
he  loved  best  to  see  her  in  white  or  cream-colored  stuffs. 
The  gown  was  made  over  a  foundation  of  white  taffeta 
silk,  over  this  were  draped  two  thicknesses  of  white  silk 
mull.  The  lower  thickness  of  mull  had  been  tinted  to 
show  every  color  of  the  spectrum  from  faintest  pink  and 
palest  blue  to  deepest  purple.  Paquin  had  assured  her 
that  an  artist  of  no  mean  fame  had  tinted  the  gown,  and 
certainly  no  tyro  at  color  effects  could  have  achieved  such 
an  illusion  of  light  and  shade.  The  deep  purple  lines 
were  fine  as  hair-lines,  and  when  the  mull  was  spread  out 
on  the  palm  of  the  hand  one  could  barely  detect  this  one 
boldly  dark  fine  line,  but  it  was  there,  and  through  some 
subtle  harmony  of  color,  it  was  in  no  way  conspicuous 
when  draped  on  the  figure,  but  merely  communicated 
tone  and  dignity  to  the  general  effect.  There  was  sus- 
picion of  gold,  a  hint  of  silver,  and  when  the  wearer  of 
the  gown  moved,  the  illusion  was  created  by  snow-flakes 
assembled  into  a  gossamer-like  fabric,  or  of  a  soap-bub- 
ble yielding  its  fragile  splendor  to  enrich  some  spider- 
web  gown. 

Ulrich  would  be  sure  to  like  it. 

The  price  was  ruinous — 25,000  francs,  and  Sylvia,  on 
hearing  the  price,  said  very  frankly  that  she  could  not 


330  THE    GREATER    JOY 

have  afforded  it.  She  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that 
Alice  would  not  want  to  spend  such  a  preposterous  sum 
for  one  very  perishable  gown,  for  the  cruel  spurs  of  the 
cavalry  officers  would  work  destruction  to  this  fairy-like 
fabric  the  first  time  it  was  worn.  But  Alice,  with  an  as- 
sumption of  utter  aloofness,  said : 

"Very  well,  I'll  take  it,  if  you  are  sure  that  the  altera- 
tions can  be  made  without  injury  to  the  gown." 

Paquin  was  sure  of  this,  and  when  the  transaction  was 
all  but  concluded,  Alice,  looking  up,  caught  sight  of 
Sylvia's  face.  The  Princess,  visibly  alarmed,  took  the 
girl  aside: 

"Forgive  me,  dear,"  she  whispered,  "are  you  quite  sure 
that  you  can  afford  to  pay  such  a  price  for  one  dress?" 

"Quite  sure,"  replied  Alice  calmly. 

Had  not  Ulrich  told  her  that  he  wanted  her  to  be  riot- 
ously extravagant  in  the  matter  of  clothes  ?  Besides  that, 
the  other  gowns  were  not  expensive,  only  four  hundred 
and  six  hundred  francs  apiece.  She  meant  to  keep  the 
snow-flake  dress  until  the  end  of  the  season,  and  then, 
when  she  had  worn  each  of  her  other  gowns  two  or  three 
times,  she  would  appear  in  this  brand  new  wonder-dress. 
She  would  not  dare  wear  so  splendid  a  gown,  at  any 
rate,  before  she  had  gained  a  little  more  aplomb,  a  little 
more  assurance. 

She  had  imagined  that  it  would  distress  her  to  spend 
the  money  her  lover  had  supplied  her  with.  She  found 
to  her  amazement  that,  having  accepted  it,  it  gave  her  no 
pain  to  spend  it ;  that,  indeed,  she  derived  a  good  deal  of 
enjoyment  from  her  purchases.  Suddenly  it  occurred  to 
her  that  she  was  really  pitifully  frivolous  and  weak.  Par- 
ticularly she  was  ashamed  of  herself  for  remembering 
always  and  always  that  she  now  ranked  Madame  von 
Hess. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  331 

The  Baroness  happened  to  be  in  the  King's  morning 
room,  where  the  audiences,  now  all  informal  because  of 
his  Majesty's  failing  health,  were  held,  and  when  Alice 
walked  through  the  room  to  leave  it,  it  so  happened  that 
the  two  women  met  at  the  door,  quite  as  she  had  im- 
agined the  meeting  would  be.  The  Baroness,  with  a 
smile,  fell  back.  There  was  not  a  vestige  of  annoyance 
on  her  face,  as  she  offered  to  let  the  Countess  take  prece- 
dence over  her  with  the  gracious  manner  with  which  one 
would  push  forward  a  bright,  ambitious  child.  Alice  felt 
this  keenly,  and  she  realized  with  a  sudden  distaste  for 
herself  that  she  had  desired  to  humiliate  and  mortify  the 
Baroness,  and  that  failing  to  effect  this  annoyance,  her 
pleasure  in  her  new  toy  was  very  appreciably  impaired. 

Suddenly,  too,  various  episodes  from  the  books  she  had 
devoured  in  her  strange,  pent-up  girlhood  came  back. 
In  those  days  it  had  seemed  to  be  a  wonderful  and  a  very 
terrible  thing  to  be  a  favorite  of  royalty.  Now  it  seemed 
neither  terrible  nor  wonderful,  but  the  most  natural  thing 
in  the  world. 

A  revulsion  of  feeling  set  in.  She  was  ashamed  of  her 
feeling  against  the  Baroness.  Certainly  Madame  von 
Hess  had  not  deserved  to  be  hated  so  bitterly.  She  had 
done  her  no  harm.  If  harm  had  been  done,  it  was  she, 
Alice,  who  had  worked  the  other  woman  an  injury  by 
stepping  upon  the  canvas  and  precluding  the  possibility 
of  Ulrich's  return.  Possibly  that  was  why  she  hated  the 
Baroness  so  furiously,  because  she  had  done  her  this 
harm,  and  this  glimpse  of  the  unethical  possibilities  of 
her  own  heart  filled  her  with  dismay. 

When  Ulrich  came  that  evening,  he  was  unusually 
grave,  even  taciturn.  She  thanked  him  profusely  for  get- 
ting her  the  title,  but  she  felt  that  her  words  lacked  sin- 
cerity.   He  said  sadly : 


332  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"I  don't  believe  you  are  very  happy  about  it,  Alice,  and 
yet  I  had  hoped  to  give  you  a  very  great  pleasure." 

"You  have  given  me  great  pleasure." 

Her  voice  was  constrained  and  forced.  She  felt  that 
she  could  not  continue  with  him  in  this  hypocritical  key, 
and  said  boldly,  "It  is  true  I  am  a  little  afraid  of  the 
limelight." 

He  sat  down  upon  the  couch,  and  drew  her  down  be- 
side him.  She  was  afraid  she  had  hurt  him.  She  was 
sorry,  and  to  make  amends,  she  began  kissing  him,  em- 
ploying the  caresses  which  she  knew  he  loved  best — long, 
lingering,  hungry  kisses  upon  the  eyes,  and  quick,  nip- 
ping kisses  upon  cheek  and  ear.  But  he  did  not  respond. 
He  did  not  even  appear  to  notice  her  blandishments. 

"Alice,  I  had  a  reason  for  getting  you  the  title.  A  de- 
cent pretext  presented  itself,  and  I  vastly  preferred  to 
have  the  King  bestow  it  to  having  grant  it  myself  after 
his  death.  My  reason  is  this :  I  felt,  dear — "  She  could 
see  that  he  was  forcing  himself  to  speak  lightly,  "I  felt 
that  if  through  some  accident  you  were  to  lose  your  repu- 
tation, it  would  be  easier  for  the  Countess  of  Gortza  than 
for  Miss  Vaughn  to  sustain  the  injury." 

"What  makes  you  think  that  such  an  accident  may 
occur,  Ulrich  ?" 

"Because  such  things  happen  sometimes,  and  it  is  the 
one  blow  from  which  ultimately  I  would  be  unable  to 
protect  you.  I  am  very  glad,  Alice,  that  I  took  this  step, 
because  it  brought  to  light  a  little  intrigue." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  demanded  anxiously. 

"It's  an  abominably  awkward  thing  to  tell  you." 

Then,  with  many  pauses,  he  told  her  that  Sylvia  had 
come  to  him  in  great  excitement,  and  upon  hearing  that 
Alice  was  to  be  made  a  Countess  had  told  him  of  von 
Bardolph's  threat  to  undermine  her  reputation.     Sylvia 


THE    GREATER    JOY  333 

was  certain  that  this  business  of  the  title  would  hurry  the 
catastrophe. 

"Why  does  von  Bardolph  hate  me  so  bitterly?"  asked 
Alice. 

"He  doesn't  want  me  to  marry  you.  A  mesalliance 
at  a  Court  at  which  he  is  Hdfmarschall!    Unspeakable !" 

The  truth  flashed  upon  her.    Quickly  she  said : 

"Then  he  must  have  guessed  that  Sylvia  and  Gunther 
want  you  to  marry  me,  so  as  to  put  you  out  of  the  suc- 
cession." 

Ulrich  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  She  grew  crimson 
with  bewilderment.  She  had  never  meant  him  to  know 
that  she  knew. 

"How  did  you  know  of  this  little  game  of  my  cousins  ?" 

"Did  you  know  of  it,  Ulrich?" 

"Certainly.  It  amused  me  intensely.  But  how  did  you 
come  by  the  knowledge — intuition  ?" 

She  was  too  honest  to  fib. 

"Gunther  told  me  the  night  of  the  first  Court  Ball." 

"I  admire  his  cheek !"  he  exclaimed. 

"So  do  I,"  smiled  Alice.  "It's  not  impertinence,  or 
even  impudence.     It's  just  plain  cheek." 

"Was  he  insulting?"  There  was  a  menace  in  Ulrich's 
voice.     "If  he  was,  I'll  horsewhip  the  puppy." 

"No,  no,  he  took  it  for  granted  that  I  am  what  I  am 
not." 

Ulrich  looked  at  her  sharply.  She  hoped  he  would  not 
ask  for  an  explanation.  If  he  did,  she  would  be  sure  to 
employ  the  words  "virtuous  woman"  or  some  other 
phrase  that  he  would  resent  and  that  would  send  him 
off  like  a  sky  rocket.  Evidently  he  understood,  for  he 
dropped  the  subject,  saying  merely : 

"Do  you  know,  Alice,  I  have  often  thought  that 
Gunther  would  make  an  excellent  drummer." 


334  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"I  shall  tell  him  jou  said  so  the  next  time  I  see 
him." 

They  both  laughed.  The  laugh  cleared  the  atmos- 
phere. 

"Does  Sylvia  suspect  the  truth  ?"  she  demanded. 

"I  do  not  know.  I  have  wondered.  Look  here,  dear- 
est, we've  got  to  have  a  talk,  you  and  I." 

"Aren't  we  having  a  talk?" 

She  sidled  up  to  him  and  placed  her  head  against  his 
shoulder.  It  struck  her  as  remarkable  that  of  the  two 
she  was  the  more  tranquil.  He  made  several  efforts  to 
speak,  but  did  not  succeed.  She  became  suspicious.  She 
moved  away  from  him. 

"Ulrich,"  she  said  insistently,  "has  something  hap- 
pened to  my  reputation  already  ?" 

"No,  no,"  he  replied,  beginning  to  pace  the  floor. 

"Ulrich  dear,  I  do  not  think  the  Hofmarschall  would 
dare  to  carry  out  his  threat.  He  wouldn't  wish  to  offend 
you,  I  am  sure." 

"You  don't  understand,  dear.  I  am  nothing  to  him. 
The  race  of  von  Dette  is  everything.  He  would  sacri- 
fice any  individual  member  of  the  royal  house — because 
to  him  the  individual  is  a  negligible  quantity — in  order  to 
save  our  race  from  the  contamination  of  a  mesalliance." 

"Ulrich,  I  have  an  idea." 

"What?" 

"Who  was  it,  Bismarck  or  someone,  who  said  that  in 
a  grave  crisis  tell  your  enemy  the  truth,  because  you  will 
not  be  believed.  Now  let  us  tell  the  truth,  to  von  Bar- 
dolph  I  mean,  in  the  hope  that  he  will  believe  us.  Let  us 
— you — tell  him  that  you  have  no  intention  of  marrying 
me." 

"I  beg  your  pardon — is  that  statement  precisely  true?" 

"Well,  then,  since  I  do  not  intend  capturing  you — " 


THE    GREATER    JOY  535 

"I  would  rather  have  you  substitute  the  word  'marry- 
ing' for  'capturing,'  "  he  said  coldly. 

She  flushed.  Blatant  and  crude  again !  When,  oh, 
when,  would  she  learn  not  to  offend  him  with  her  sharp 
repartee  ? 

"Very  well,"  she  said  meekly.  "At  any  rate,  Ulrich, 
why  not  disarm  the  venomous  old  reptile  by  telling  him 
the  truth — that  there  is  no  thought  of  marriage  between 
us." 

"My  dear,"  he  said  stiffly,  "do  you  realize  what  you 
are  asking  me  to  do  ?  You  are  asking  the  man  who  loves 
you  above  everything  else  in  the  world  to  brand  you  as 

I No,  dear.     I  am  bad  enough,  heaven  knows.     I 

may  have  done  wrong  in  not  marrying  you.  But  I  am 
not  as  low  as  all  that." 

"I  think  that  is  a  mistaken  notion  of  honor,  Ulrich. 
,You  would  not  be  branding  me — as  you  call  it,  in  a  gen- 
eral way.  You  would  probably  save  my  name.  You  do 
not  imagine  I  am  such  a  fool  as  to  suppose  that  the  serv- 
ants do  not  realize  the  status  quo,  do  you  ?  This  venom- 
ous spider  can  be  of  service  to  you.  Go  and  tell  him  the 
truth.  If  he  is  so  devoted  to  your  race,  he  must  have 
some  feeling  of  loyalty  to  you,  the  more  so,  as  you  will 
be  Prince  Regent  when  the  King  dies.  And  he  will  cer- 
tainly prefer  serving  and  pleasing  you  to  mortifying  and 
angering  you." 

The  surprise  in  Ulrich's  eyes  gave  way  to  admiration. 

"By  George !"  he  exclaimed,  "I  wouldn't  have  thought 
it  of  you.  My  dear  child,  if  you  had  been  born  and  bred 
at  Court,  you  couldn't  have  evolved  a  more  brilliant 
scheme  for  circumventing  the  old  fox." 

"Then  you'll  do  it?" 

"No,  my  dear,  I  will  not."  He  kissed  her  fingers  ten- 
derly.   "Your  scheme  has  one  weak  point  only.    It  would 


336  THE    GREATER    JOY 

make  a  cad  of  me.  And  that  I  cannot  ver-  well  con- 
sent to." 

"Then " 

"Yes,  he'll  try,  and  he  is  resourceful.  You  see,  dear,  he 
thinks  if  it — about  us — is  generally  known,  it  will  make 
marriage  impossible." 

Her  eyes  held  a  question.  His  nervousness  suddenly 
passed  away.  He  had  come  to  the  crucial  point  at 
last. 

"Alice,  you  realize,  dear,  don't  you — that  it  would 
make  marriage  very  difficult?"  He  did  not  give  her  a 
chance  to  reply,  but  continued  hurriedly :  "If  it  were  not 
for  the  old  devil,  we  might  have  pulled  along  nicely.  You 
took  the  Court  by  storm.  The  younger  set  is  quite  wild 
about  you — Madame  von  Hess,  von  Garde " 

"Baroness  von  Hess,"  said  Alice  quickly.  All  the  jeal- 
ousy that  this  woman  aroused  in  her,  was  immediately 
on  the  alert.    "Baroness  von  Hess " 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Ulrich  suspiciously. 
"Why  do  you  repeat  the  name  in  that  odd  way  ?" 

All  at  once  the  girl  was  very  busy  with  the  fire  tongs 
and  a  recalcitrant  coal. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  she  said  carelessly,  "I  have  barely 
spoken  to  her." 

"Well,  you  have  spoken  to  von  Garde  several  times." 

Alice  laughed  mirthlessly. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "but  you  had  better  not  count  on  von 
Garde's  being  of  use." 

"W7hynot?" 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  tell  you,  Ulrich.  Von  Garde  kr.s 
asked  me  to  marry  him." 

"The  devil  he  has!"  Ulrich  regarded  her  in  open- 
mouthed  astonishment.    "What  did  you  say  to  him?" 

"What  a  ridiculous  question,  Ulrich !" 


THE    GREATER    JOY  $37 

"Look  here,  Alice,  I  consider  this  a  very  serious  thing. 
Are  you  sure  you're  not  fond  of  him?" 

"Ulrich !" 

"Answer  me." 

"Of  course  not.  What  an  expression  to  use,  Ulrich ! 
One  likes  a  man  or  one  loves  him.  One  isn't  fond  of 
him." 

"Do  you  like  him?" 

"Immensely." 

"I  hope,  Alice,  you  do  not  think  me  jealous.  A  man 
who  is  jealous  is  doubtful  of  his  own  powers,  and  I  never 
underestimate  myself.  On  the  whole,  since  you  like  him 
immensely,  I  see  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  see  a  good 
deal  of  von  Garde." 

"No,  Ulrich,  dear,  I  shall  avoid  him.  He — it — oh, 
dear,  I  feel  so  uncomfortable  when  I'm  with  him." 

"Uncomfortable !"  Ulrich  arose,  and  walked  through 
the  room.  "Uncomfortable,"  he  said  again.  "Why,  in 
heaven's  name,  should  you  feel  uncomfortable  in  the 
presence  of  a  man  whose  affection  you  do  not  reciprocate  ? 
Women  are  commonly  supposed  to  bask  in  the  admiration 
and  adoration  of  men." 

There  was  an  ugly  look  in  his  face.  In  spite  of  his 
disavowal  she  realized  that  he  was  frantically  jealous  and 
suspicious.     She  regretted  having  told  him. 

"Nevertheless,  I  must  insist  on  seeing  as  little  as  pos- 
sible of  von  Garde.  It  wouldn't  be  fair  to  him  to  en- 
courage him  to  see  me." 

Ulrich  came  and  stood  closer  to  her.  The  ugly,  hungry 
look  in  his  face  deepened.  She  could  see  that  he  was 
restraining  himself  with  difficulty  from  taking  hold  of 
her,  grasping  her,  crushing  her.  For  the  first  time  she 
experienced  a  sensation  of  loathing  and  repugnance,  for 
she  saw  that  at  the  moment  he  saw  in  her  one  thing 


338  THE    GREATER    JOY 

only,  the  woman  who  most  adequately  answered  his  re- 
quirements, who  afforded  him  a  degree  of  intoxication 
he  had  never  known  before.  She  turned  her  head 
away. 

"Alice,  are  you  in  love  with  von  Garde?  Are  you 
going  to  marry  him  ?" 

"No,  no,  of  course  not.    What  silly  questions,  Ulrich  I" 

"I  don't  believe  you." 

"Ulrich — even  if  I  loved  him,  how  could  I  marry  him  ? 
Unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken,  Lieutenant  von  Garde  is 
a  man  who  has  very  rigid  notions  of  a  woman's  honor 
and  virtue.  And  even  if  I  loved  him,  you  do  not  sup- 
pose I  would  be  low  enough  to  marry  him  without  tell- 
ing him  that  I — that  we " 

She  broke  off  helplessly. 

"If,  understanding  his  rigid  notions  of  honor,  you 
thought  enough  of  him  to  humiliate  yourself  so  far  as  to 
make  a  clean  breast  of  our  affair,  I  should  say  that  you 
loved  him  very  dearly  indeed.  And  if,  having  been  told, 
he  would  not  be  willing  to  marry  you,  it  would  not  keep 
him  from  loving  you,  or  you  from  loving  him." 

She  turned  and  faced  him.  Her  temples  were  throb- 
bing furiously.  She  saw  in  his  eyes  the  bald,  naked  fear 
of  the  male  who  thinks  he  is  to  be  robbed  of  his  mate. 
A  cry  of  disgust  broke  from  her  lips. 

"Ulrich,  how  can  you,  how  dare  you  insinuate  such  a 
thing?  You  don't  suppose  I  would  have  two  lovers  at 
one  time  ?  This  is  horrible !  You  do  not  suppose  I 
would  do  for  any  other  man  what  I  have  done  for  you, 
because  of  your  accursed  rank " 

"If  you  loved  him " 

"But  I  don't,  I  don't,"  she  cried  wildly.  "I  love  you — 
you — you  only." 

The  hurt  look  in  his  face  died  away.     A  sigh  of  re- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  839 

lief  floated  from  his  lips.  He  offered  to  put  his  arm 
about  her  waist,  but  she  shrank  from  him. 

"No,  Ulrich,  no." 

"It's  really  too  bad  for  von  Garde,  I'm  sorry  for  him." 

Her  lover  was  suave  and  smooth  once  more.  Wonder- 
ingly,  she  looked  at  him.  How  did  he  accomplish  his  in- 
stantaneous transformations?     He  continued: 

"He  would  have  brought  so  many  delightful  young  of- 
ficers to  your  home.  And  you  are  entitled  to  a  retinue  of 
admirers.  I  have  had  my  fling.  I  am  eight  years  older 
than  you.  I  have  no  right  to  deprive  you  of  the  harmless 
pleasures  to  be  derived  from  an  innocent  flirtation." 

"I  do  not  care  to  flirt." 

"You  do  not  seriously  mean  that." 

"I  don't  think  you  understand,  Ulrich  dear,  just  how 
I  love  you.  You  do  not  understand,  dear,  that  you  have 
not  merely  eclipsed  other  men  for  me,  but  that  you  have 
completely  blinded  me  to  other  men.  Men  are  not  men 
to  me,  they  are  just  human  beings  who  happen  to  dress 
differently  from  myself." 

"Alice?"  He  was  genuinely  touched  and  ashamed  of 
himself. 

"Truly,  dearest." 

She  began  kissing  him  passionately.  He  allowed  her 
to  rain  kisses  upon  his  mouth  and  eyes,  for  a  moment 
before  responding,  then  he  caught  her  tempestuously 
to  his  breast.  They  were  locked  in  each  other's  arms, 
kissing  each  other  madly,  oblivious  of  everything  save 
the  vehemence  of  their  emotions  and  the  turbulence  of 
their  blood. 

He  was  the  first  to  withdraw  from  the  embrace. 

"This  will  never  do,  dear.  Your  kisses  paralyze  my 
brain.  And  we  haven't  settled  the  matter  about  which  I 
came  to  speak  to  you." 


810  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"What  else  is  there,  Ulrich?" 

"If  you  feel  that  it  would  be  intolerable  to  continue  on 
our  present  footing  if  the  story  got  out,  I  would  prefer 
marrying  you  now." 

"I  think  we  have  settled  the  matter  long  ago,  Ulrich." 

He  was  not  content  with  this.  He  pressed  her  to  con- 
sider the  matter  carefully.  He  repeated  and  reiterated ; 
she  answered  him  negatively  again  and  again.  Finally, 
with  a  little  sigh  of  weariness,  she  said,  with  a  detached 
air  that  never  failed  to  irritate  him: 

"Really,  dear,  I  hate  to  accuse  you  of  being  tedious; 
but  this  conversation  is  fatiguing,  to  say  the  least." 

Perplexed,  he  looked  at  her  searchingly.  There  were 
times  lately  when  she  seemed  a  different  woman  to  him 
from  the  little  innocent  playful  girl  with  whom  he  had 
fallen  so  idiotically  in  love.  It  troubled  him  to  think  she 
had  developed  the  power  within  the  last  few  months  to 
coolly  create  a  distance  between  them  with  a  few  words. 

She  sat  down  opposite  and  not  very  near  to  him,  on  a 
footstool. 

"Would  you  like  to  play  a  game  of  cribbage  or  bezique 
before  we  retire?  It  is  only  half-past  nine.  Are  you 
tired?" 

She  delivered  these  words,  so  intimate  and  personal 
and  apparently  affectionate  with  the  same  careless  aloof- 
ness as  before.  Anyone  seeing  her  manner  would  have 
believed  her  to  be  discussing  the  latest  play  with  some 
casual  visitor. 

Every  fibre  in  his  body  began  to  tingle.  Was  there 
something  of  the  devil  in  this  woman,  after  all? 

"That  is  the  worst  of  an  affair  like  ours,"  he  said  bit- 
terly.   "The  keeping  up  of  appearances." 

"No,"  she  said  vigorously,  "that  is  not  the  worst  of  it. 
There  is  something  far  worse— at  least  for  the  woman." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  841 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

She  had  jumped  from  the  footstool,  and  was  standing 
against  the  mantel.  Suddenly  he  saw  her  body  sway  to 
and  fro.     She  was  crying. 

"Alice  darling,  what  is  wrong?" 

He  had  his  arms  about  her,  had  her  on  his  knees  in  a 
moment. 

"I  cannot  tell  you,  Ulrich.  There  are  some  things  I 
cannot  tell  even  you." 

"There  should  be  nothing,  sweetheart,  that  you  can- 
not speak  about  to  me." 

There  was  an  ineffable  goodness  and  grace  about  him 
as  he  said  this. 

"What  is  it,  Alice  ?" 

He  lifted  her  wet  face  to  his,  and  kissed  it  passion- 
ately. 

"Tell  me,  darling,"  he  whispered. 

She  continued  crying,  making  no  effort  to  wipe  away 
her  tears,  allowing  them  to  stream  over  her  face,  which 
he  was  holding  with  one  hand. 

"I  cannot  help  it,"  she  sobbed,  "it  is  a  horrible  feel- 
ing. Perhaps  it  will  go  away  again,  but  sometimes  it 
seems  almost  a  physical  pain  when  I  remember  that  I 
can  never  be  a  mother.  Oh,  Ulrich,  Ulrich,  that  is 
hardest  of  all  to  bear!  I  always  loved  children;  their 
delicate  little  bodies,  their  sweet,  soft  limbs,  their  rose- 
petal  fingers  and  toes,  and  their  sweet,  confiding  ways, 
the  developing  brain  which  a  mother  can  guide  and 
mould.  Ulrich,  Ulrich,  it  is  that  more  than  anything 
else  that  makes  our  love  seem  unhallowed,  a  mere  sen- 
sual and  vile  instead  of  a  sacred  and  pure  thing.  Love 
between  man  and  woman  is  always  the  same,  as  you 
once  said ;  but  if  children  spring  from  the  union,  if  man 
and  woman  together  share  the  duties  and  the  higher 


34#  THE    GREATER    JOY 

joy  that  children  bring,  then  the  sordidness  of  that  re- 
lation seems  washed  away." 

She  began  to  weep  again.  If  her  face  had  not  been 
so  wet  from  her  own  tears  she  would  have  felt  the 
moisture  on  his  as  he  kissed  her.  Without  intending 
to,  she  had  excoriated  him.  He  was  blaming  himself 
horribly.  As  a  physician,  if  not  as  a  man,  he  should 
have  known  that  she  was  the  type  of  woman  who  would 
take  precisely  this  spiritualized,  dematerialized  view  of 
their  relations,  who  would  crave  maternity  with  incom- 
parably greater  vehemence  than  she  had  craved  a  mate. 
Why  had  he  not  let  her  alone  ?  In  a  way  he  had  ruined 
her  life.  He  could  never  make  her  amends  for  the  lack 
of  children. 

He  thought  again  of  a  morganatic  marriage.  But  he 
loathed  the  very  idea  of  a  "left-handed  alliance."  His 
dual  duty  seemed  to  cleave  him  in  twain;  on  the  one 
side  was  his  duty  to  the  state,  which  had  been  dinned 
into  his  ears  and  drilled  into  his  brain  since  childhood; 
on  the  other  hand  was  his  duty  to  the  woman.  And 
he  had  enough  prescience  at  the  moment  to  realize  that 
unless  he  could  ask  her  to  marry  him  in  a  whole-hearted 
way,  in  a  manner  that  betokened  his  earnest  desire  to 
be  married,  he  would  only  add  to  her  hurt. 

He  suffered  miserably,  perhaps  more  than  she,  for 
hers,  at  the  moment,  was  the  soft  luxury  of  grief  dis- 
solving itself  in  tears — tears  which  the  man  she  adored 
was  kissing  away. 

Suddenly  she  ceased  weeping.  She  lifted  her  face. 
It  shone  with  a  strange  radiance. 

"Ulrich,  my  lover,  what  does  it  matter?  What  does 
anything  matter,  so  long  as  I  have  you?" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

Early  in  December, — the  first  snow  was  on  the  earth 
— the  old  King  breathed  his  last.  The  end  came 
quickly,  and  von  Garde,  at  Sylvia's  request,  came  to  in- 
form Alice  that  the  Princess  desired  to  see  her  as  soon 
as  possible. 

It  was  the  first  time  the  young  Aide  had  called  on 
her,  since  she  had  rejected  his  offer  of  marriage,  and 
she  saw  from  his  manner  that  it  was  painful  for  him  to 
meet  her  face  to  face,  alone;  he  declined  her  invitation 
to  be  seated,  offering  as  an  excuse  that  he  had  a  num- 
ber of  matters  to  attend  to  for  the  Prince  Regent. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Alice  rapidly,  "that  is  what  we  must 
call  Prince  Ulrich  now,  is  it  not?" 

After  von  Garde  left,  she  stood  for  a  few  moments 
before  descending  to  her  car,  which  was  waiting,  lost 
in  reflection. 

Prince  Regent!  For  ten  years  to  come  Ulrich  would 
be  Regent;  in  all  but  name  he  would  be  king.  His 
word  would  virtually  be  law,  the  child  king  himself 
would  be  subject  to  his  rule.     And  Ulrich  loved  her! 

It  occurred  to  her  that  the  pale  green  tailor-made  she 
was  wearing  would  not  be  suitable  to  wear  in  appear- 
ing before  Princess  Sylvia.  She  summoned  her  maid, 
and  changed  her  suit  for  a  dark  grey  gown.  She  be- 
came unaccountably  nervous.  In  order  to  gain  time, 
she  bade  Estelle  dress  her  hair  over  again,  pretending 
it  had  become  dishevelled  in  changing  skirts. 

She  believed  that  her  nervousness  was  due  to  fear  of 
343 


THE    GREATER    JOY 


meeting  Ulrich.  It  was  foolish  to  feel  like  this,  but  she 
dreaded  horribly  meeting  him  to-day,  perhaps  in  the 
presence  of  half  a  dozen  people.  She  would  have  to  be 
conventional,  and  offer  himj  some  conventional  stock 
phrase  of  sympathy.  It  would  be  very  trying.  She 
hoped  she  would  not  break  down.  She  hoped  she 
would  be  able  to  see  him  alone  if  only  for  a  minute. 
She  wanted  very  much  to  be  a  comfort  to  him  in  this 
ordeal,  for  ordeal  it  was  for  him.  He  had  been  deeply 
attached  to  his  grandfather. 

It  occurred  to  her  that  von  Garde  had  not  told  her 
whether  the  Prince  Regent  had  already  passed  a  decree 
fixing  the  period  during  which  Court  mourning  was  to 
be  observed.  It  was  optional  with  him  to  make  that 
period  three  months  or  only  six  weeks.  If  he  made  it 
three  months,  it  would  be  March  before  the  Court  could 
resume  its  merry-making,  its  dinners  and  dances  and 
balls,  and  as  the  last  of  February  terminated  the  Court 
season,  she  would,  in  that  case,  not  be  able  to  wear  her 
snow-flake  dress  that  season.  Paquin  had  assured  Syl- 
via and  herself  that  a  complete  revolution  in  styles 
would  take  place  before  next  fall,  and  thus  the  twenty- 
five  thousand  francs  she  had  paid  for  the  gown  would 
be  thrown  away.  She  regretted  having  saved  the  won- 
der-dress instead  of  wearing  it  at  the  last  ball. 

Suddenly  she  became  aware  of  the  trend  of  her 
thoughts,  and  the  realization  of  her  own  shallowness 
sent  a  pang  through  her  entire  body.  Good  heavens, 
was  this  what  she  was  coming  to?  This  old  man,  the 
dead  king,  had  been  unusually  kind  and  gracious  to  her ; 
he  had  heaped  kindness  upon  kindness  on  her,  and  her 
one  thought  in  connection  with  his  death  was  regret  that 
she  would  not  be  able  to  wear  a  twenty-five  thousand 
francs  ball-gown! 


THE    GREATER    JOY  345 

Certainly,  she  had  not  grown  to  be  the  sort  of  woman 
into  which  in  her  naive  girlhood,  she  had  expected  to 
mature. 

She  wondered  what  Ulrich  would  think  of  her  if  he 
knew  what  had  passed  through  her  mind  upon  hearing 
of  the  King's  demise.  She  was  bitterly  ashamed  of 
herself.  The  heartlessness  which  her  own  inward  vision 
had  revealed  to  her,  for  such  she  considered  it,  seemed 
a  blacker  turpitude  than  the  carnal  sin  of  having  a 
lover.  Perhaps  there  was  truth  in  the  claim  that  "re- 
spectable" folks  advanced.  Perhaps  a  woman  could 
not  live  an  unchaste  life  without  debilitating  her  entire 
moral  make-up.  But  why  should  this  be  so?  Why 
should  a  man  be  able  to  live  a  wild  life  and  yet  remain 
moral  in  other  respects?    Why  not  a  woman? 

This  seemed  to  her  a  frightful  injustice.  It  shifted 
the  much-discussed  question  of  the  inequality  of  the 
sexes  to  an  entirely  different  footing.  She  resented 
this  inequality.  She  rebelled,  and  then  abruptly  she  told 
herself  that  such  a  theory  was  both  mischievous  and  ab- 
surd, and  that  she  might  have  had  precisely  the  same 
thoughts  if  she  had  been  Ulrich's  wife.  But  the  sus- 
picion that  her  lax  life  had  something  to  do  with  her  un- 
moral trend  of  thought  persisted.  She  recalled  what 
Ulrich  had  said  about  his  willingness  to  make  her  his 
wife  if  at  any  time  it  became  imperative  for  her  wel- 
fare. Why  could  she  not  force  herself  to  swallow  her 
foolish  pride  and  ask  him  to  marry  her?  He  was 
stronger  than  she.  He  was  not  an  immoral  man,  as  she 
had  once  supposed.  There  was  beauty  and  fineness  in 
his  spiritual  texture,  and  if  she  could  live  with  him  hon- 
estly and  openly,  without  having  to  resort  every  day  to 
a  host  of  miserable  subterfuges  in  order  to  keep  up  ap- 
pearances, if,  best  of  all,  she  would  have  the  right  to 


S4<6  THE    GREATER   JOY 

become  a  mother,  it  would  help  her  to  become  a  better 
woman.  If  the  necessity  for  constant  prevarication  and 
obliquity  could  be  obviated,  it  would  help  straighten  out 
her  moral  backbone.  Sometimes,  indeed,  she  thought 
it  was  not  a  carnal  sin  at  all  to  live  with  a  man  without 
being  his  wife.  Sometimes,  too,  she  thought  that  Ul- 
rich  thought  as  she  did,  and  felt  all  this  quite  as  keenly, 
and  that  he  would  have  been  glad  if  she  had  asked  him 
to  marry  her.  He  lacked  the  courage  to  urge  marriage 
on  her,  and  that  was  why,  whenever  he  offered  her  mar- 
riage, he  appeared  so  diffident.  If  he  ever  reproached 
her,  after  marriage,  the  right  spirit  in  which  to  accept 
the  reproaches  would  be  to  consider  them  as  part  pun- 
ishment for  having  first  lived  with  him  before  marriage. 

But  it  would  be  impossible  to  ask  him  at  that  mo- 
ment, when  the  highest  honor  of  the  state  had  come  to 
him.  It  would  be  a  long  time  to  wait  until  Egon  came 
of  age ;  ten  years  of  qualms  of  conscience,  of  fear  of  los- 
ing him,  and  fear  of  losing  her  reputation.  But  even 
ten  years  were  bound  to  come  to  an  end,  and  if  he  would 
marry  her  at  the  end  of  the  time,  she  would  be  satis- 
fied. She  felt  certain  that  the  time  would  come  when 
he  would  offer  her  marriage,  not  in  the  half-hearted, 
half-afraid,  diffident  way  which  he  employed  at  present, 
but  in  the  warm,  pulsating,  insistent  manner  he  had  when 
urging  a  point  he  truly  wanted  to  carry. 

She  blamed  her  cowardice  and  lack  of  stamina  in  not 
resisting  him  at  the  outset,  in  not  accepting  his  offer  of 
marriage  instead  of  deciding  as  she  did  from  notions  of 
false  pride  and  mistaken  generosity  and  love.  There 
were  times  when  it  was  healthier,  more  wholesome  for 
all  concerned  to  exact  a  sacrifice  than  to  make  it. 

With  the  knowledge  she  now  had  of  his  character,  she 
told  herself  that  if  she  had  that  chapter  of  her  life  to 


THE    GREATER    JOY  347 

relive,  she  would  succeed  in  forcing  him  to  ask  her  with 
all  a  wooer's  customary  eagerness  instead  of  making 
himself  appear  as  a  sort  of  burnt  offering,  in  case  she 
insisted  upon  a  marriage.  Nevertheless  she  was  not 
quite  sure  of  this.  She  was  unable  to  compass  this  now, 
and  she  had  matured  and  developed  immeasurably  since 
then.  She  was  not  an  unopened  volume  to  him,  but  a 
book  whose  pages  have  been  cut  and  which  has  been 
enjoyed  at  leisure,  and  there  was  no  doubt  in  her  mind 
that,  no  matter  how  dearly  prized  the  book  is  whose  sub- 
stance is  known,  it  does  not  possess  the  magical  charm, 
the  promise  of  illimitable  vistas  which  the  unopened 
tome  holds  out. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  Estelle,  who  consulted  the  mir- 
ror repeatedly  while  coiling  the  heavy,  meerschaum- 
colored  braids  of  hair  about  her  mistress's  head,  must 
have  read  her  thoughts.  The  girl  knew  that  Ulrich  was 
her  lover.  Alice  paid  her  well,  and  had  told  her  briefly 
that  she  paid  such  exceptional  wages  because  she  de- 
sired a  discreet  servant.  The  maid  understood  per- 
fectly on  what  terms  she  was  serving  her  mistress,  and 
why  she  was  receiving  twice  as  much  money  as  she 
would  have  been  paid  elsewhere.  Alice  considered  this 
degrading.  She  wondered  if  Estelle  was  a  virtuous  girl. 
If  she  was,  she  probably  despised  her  mistress. 

She  dismissed  the  maid  and  sat  quite  still,  thinking. 
It  was  impossible  to  go  to  Sylvia's,  feeling  as  she  did. 
She  arose  from  the  chair  in  which  she  was  sitting,  and 
following  a  sudden  impulse,  slipped  to  her  knees  before 
the  bed.  She  had  not  prayed  for  years,  but  now,  full  of 
self-loathing  and  disgust,  feelings,  which  she  did  not  at- 
tempt to  analyze,  but  which  affected  her  as  nostalgia 
might  have  done,  drove  her  to  her  knees. 

She  could  remember  no  prayer  adapted  to  her  need. 


348  THE    GREATER    JOY 

She  said  the  Lord's  Prayer  twice,  which  was  all  she 
could  think  of,  but  when  she  came  to  "and  give  us  this 
day  our  daily  bread"  she  faltered,  and  it  seemed  inde- 
cent for  her,  who  was  accepting  a  fortune  from  her 
lover,  to  repeat  those  words  framed  for  the  needs  of  the 
indigent,  for  honest  workers. 

She  began  crying  softly,  her  eyes  lying  against  the 
counterpane  of  Venetian  lace.  She  did  not  know  how 
long  she  had  been  crying  when  Estelle  came  in.  The 
girl  shrank  back  on  seeing  her  mistress  on  her  knees,  but 
Alice  called  to  her  to  come  in.  She  struggled  to  her 
feet.  It  seemed  to  her  that  there  was  a  look  of  com- 
passion in  the  girl's  eyes. 

"Countess,  the  Prince  Regent  asks  if  you  will  see 
him." 

Alice  went  to  him  immediately. 

"I  had  to  come  and  see  you  for  a  moment,  dear.  No 
one  knows  I  am  here.  They  think  I  am  in  my  rooms. 
I  felt  the  necessity  of  sitting  quietly  at  your  side  for  a 
moment." 

"Did  he  suffer?" 

"No,  dear.  It  was  a  peaceful  passing  away.  I  would 
rather  not  speak  of  it  now." 

"Very  well,  Ulrich." 

"You  have  been  crying?" 

"Yes." 

"I  am  glad,  sweetheart,  that  you  felt  some  affection 
for  my  grandfather.  He  was  very  fond  of  you.  He 
spoke  of  you  just  before  he  died." 

"Did  he?"  she  said. 

Her  humiliation  deepened.  Ulrich  thought  she  had 
been  weeping  in  sorrow  for  the  King;  when  in  reality 
she  had  been  concerned  only  with  herself,  and  the  best 
that  she  could  have  said  of  herself  was  that  she  had 


8HE  COULD   BtMEMBKR   NO   PRAYER   ADAPTED*   TO*HER   NEEDS.     *  *       *    '   '        ' 

Page  348 


THE    GREATER    JOY  319 

wept  and  prayed  in  repentance  of  her  own  callousness, 
but  she  could  not  tell  Ulrich  that.  She  felt  instinctively 
that,  at  the  moment,  indelicacy  would  be  a  worse  offence 
than  untruthfulness. 

He  continued: 

"Grandfather  said  to  me :  'Ulrich,  be  kind  to  the  little 
American  girl.     She  is  as  true  as  gold/  " 

"So  he  knew " 

"Yes,  he  knew.  But  he  never  let  me  suspect  it  be- 
fore, not  even  when  I  asked  him  for  your  title." 

"Ulrich,  I  was  not  worthy  of  his  kindness." 

She  felt  crushed,  annihilated,  abased. 

He  pressed  her  hand  gently. 

"Don't,  dearest,"  he  said.    "Don't." 

"I  don't  mean  because  of  the — usual  thing.  I  mean 
in  general." 

"We  are  likely  to  experience  that  feeling,  dearest, 
when  some  one  who  has  been  near  to  us,  dies.  We  feel 
the  majesty  of  death ;  it  brings  out  what  is  best  in  us." 

She  could  not  continue  to  dwell  upon  herself  at  the 
moment,  and  remained  silent.  In  a  little  while  his  dis- 
inclination to  speak  vanished,  and  he  described  to  her 
the  death-bed  scene. 

When  he  arose  to  go,  she  said : 

"Sylvia  sent  for  me.  Will  you  take  me  in  your  auto- 
mobile, or  shall  I  go  in  my  own?" 

"You  had  better  go  in  your  own,  dear — for  your  own 
sake.  I  left  Sylvia  weeping  industriously."  His  lips 
curled  disdainfully. 

"Industriously!    Aren't  you  a  bit  hard  on  Sylvia?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"No — Sylvia  hasn't  an  unselfish,  sincere  spot  in  hef 
entire  body." 

Court  mourning  was  ^commanded"  for  six  weeks  only, 


350  THE    GREATER    JOY 

Ulrich  choosing  the  shortest  term  out  of  consideration 
for  the  younger  set. 

So  the  Court  went  into  official  mourning.  The  great 
hall  of  state  which  was  used  as  a  ball-room  was  formally 
closed,  the  doors  sealed  and  draped  in  black  and  pur- 
ple. Black  and  purple  immersed  the  large  entrance  hall, 
all  the  semi-official  rooms  on  the  main  floor,  and  billowed 
upon  the  exterior  and  along  the  windows  of  the  Koen- 
igliches  Palais  and  of  the  Neues  Palais.  Black  and  pur- 
ple was  conspicuous  everywhere  to  signify  that  the 
Court  was  officially  mourning  the  King. 

The  young  officers  and  ladies  of  the  Court  flirted  more 
clandestinely  than  before,  and  instead  of  playing  bridge 
in  Sylvia's  morning  room,  they  withdrew,  out  of  defer- 
ence to  her,  to  some  private  sitting  room. 

At  the  end  of  six  weeks,  the  Court  automatically  went 
out  of  mourning.  A  date  was  set  for  the  last  ball  but 
one  of  the  season.  Flirtations  were  resumed  with  their 
old  vigor;  there  were  theatre-parties,  and  dinners  after 
the  opera,  and  weddings.  The  old  King  had  dwindled 
into  a  memory,  and  courtiers,  climbers,  time-servers  of 
both  sexes  who  had  formerly  vied  with  each  other  in 
dragging  into  their  conversation  the  words  "His  Maj- 
esty" and  the  "King"  now  mouthed  and  ranted  about 
"His  Royal  Highness"  and  "the  Prince  Regent."  It 
was  the  same  old  comedy  that  has  been  enacted  since 
history  first  began  and  kings  flourished  and  were  super- 
seded or  conquered  or  died.  "Le  Rot  est  mort!  Vive 
le  Roi!"  "The  King  is  dead— long  live  the  King!"— 
the  King,  who  was  a  delicate,  precocious,  nervous  child 
of  nine. 

Ulrich  was  exceedingly  busy  these  days.  He  was 
forced  to  neglect  his  beloved  Clinic,  his  cherished  gela- 
tine and  agra  plate  cultures  of  the  diplococcus  pneu- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  351 

moniae  and  the  bucolis  pestis,  and  to  neglect  Alice  as 
well.  Sometimes  she  did  not  see  him  for  a  week  at  a 
time.  But  no  matter  how  busy  he  was,  no  matter  how 
important  an  affair  of  state  kept  him  up  long  after  mid- 
night, he  allowed  no  day  to  go  by  without  telephoning 
her. 

Now  it  was  that  Alice  began  to  see  the  wisdom  of 
having  an  entire  house  to  herself,  a  house  so  spacious 
that  Ulrich  could  have  his  own  suite  of  rooms  in  it,  a 
sleeping  room,  a  work-room,  a  small  laboratory,  even. 
She  resumed  her  house-hunting,  and  was  ably  seconded 
by  Sylvia,  who  was  ready  at  all  times  for  little  informal 
excursions  of  any  sort.  The  Princess  was  a  curious 
jumble  of  traits.  When  alone  with  one  or  two  friends, 
she  unbent  to  such  a  degree  as  to  give  the  impression 
of  desiring  to  eliminate  her  rank;  but  in  public,  or  on 
semi-official  occasions,  she  insisted  upon  the  strictest  ob- 
servance of  and  adherence  to  ceremony  and  etiquette. 
She  forced  poor  old  Schwellenberg,  "the  meal-bag,"  as 
Alice  had  once  maliciously  called  her,  to  stand  for  two 
hours  at  the  christening  of  one  of  Gunther's  sister's  chil- 
dren, and  the  poor  old  woman  in  consequence  developed 
sciatica.  Alice  carried  her  off  to  her  own  apartment, 
and  tended  and  nursed  her  as  she  would  have  tended 
and  nursed  a  mother  or  a  sister.  The  "meal-bag" 
thanked  her  with  tears. 

Many  guests  Alice  entertained  in  an  informal  way. 
Ulrich  wished  her  to  do  so,  and  Ulrich's  wish,  of  course, 
was  law.  Possibly  the  utter  indifference  she  felt  to  the 
people  who  flocked  about  her,  contributed  to  her  suc- 
cess, for  having  no  direct  interest  in  anything  or  any- 
body, she  lent  a  willing  ear  to  everyone  and  had  a  spark- 
ling phrase  ready  at  all  times  to  slip  into  conversational 
gaps. 


352  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"She  is  the  best  listener  in  Hohenhof-Hohe,"  said  old 
General  von  Hollen,  who  had  related  anecdotes  to  her 
of  the  Franco-German  war  to  which  no  one  else  would 
listen  because  they  had  been  told  and  retold  so  often. 

"Which  means/'  sneered  von  Bardolph,  to  whom  the 
remark  had  been  addressed,  "that  she  deliberately  muz- 
zles the  cleverest  tongue  in  Europe." 

For  von  Bardolph  came  along  with  the  others.  He 
was  no  longer  Master  of  Ceremonies.  The  morning 
after  the  old  King's  demise  he  had  asked  the  Prince 
Regent  to  graciously  accept  his  immediate  resignation. 
Ulrich  urged  him  to  remain,  believing  it  impolitic  to 
break  with  him,  but  the  old  courtier  remained  firm  in 
his  request.  It  occurred  to  Ulrich  later,  in  discussing 
the  matter  with  Alice,  that  von  Bardolph  desired  to 
shift  his  responsibility  for  the  behavior  of  the  younger 
von  Dettes  from  his  shoulders,  and  that  his  threatened 
machinations  against  her  would  cease  with  his  office, 
but  Alice  had  a  different  theory.  She  thought  von  Bar- 
dolph was  trying  to  marry  her  to  von  Garde,  and  that 
he  had  merely  refrained  from  causing  her  trouble  so  far 
as  he  first  wished  to  see  if  he  could  bring  about  this 
marriage.  But  even  when  it  became  apparent  to  all  who 
watched  the  little  comedy,  that  she  gave  no  thought  to 
the  handsome  young  Aide,  no  dynamiting  occurred. 
Alice  now  began  to  incline  to  Ulrich's  belief  and  plucked 
up  courage.  War  scares  have  been  known  to  blow  over 
many  and  many  a  time. 

Baroness  von  Hess  was  another  of  Alice's  frequent 
visitors,  and  the  latter  religiously  returned  her  every  call. 
Through  some  perversity  of  fate  the  two  women  were 
never  alone.  Both  longed  for  closer  acquaintanceship, 
yet  both  dreaded  it.  Once,  when  Freiherr  von  Bar- 
dolph was  the  only  other  person  in  the  room  with  them, 


THE    GREATER    JOY  353 

Alice  fled  incontinently,  when  she  saw  him  preparing  to 
leave.  Why,  after  all,  cultivate  an  acquaintance  that 
would  never  ripen  into  friendship?  Why  seek  the  com- 
panionship of  a  woman  whom  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart 
she  hated  with  all  her  might? 

When  the  Court  went  out  of  mourning,  and  the  little 
King  came  more  into  evidence,  the  ladies  and  the  gentle- 
men attached  to  the  royal  household  made  every  effort 
to  pamper  and  spoil  him.  The  child  was  inordinately 
vain  and  his  ambition  was  as  insatiable  as  Sylvia's.  Ul- 
rich  kept  him  well  in  the  background,  but  in  some  way, 
probably  through  Egon's  valet,  it  got  about  that  the  lit- 
tle King  was  continually  entreating  the  Prince  Regent  to 
issue  instructions  that  in  future,  the  King,  though  a  mi- 
nor, was  to  be  addressed  as  "y°ur  Majesty."  This  was 
contrary  to  the  usage  of  European  Courts,  which  or- 
dained that  all  royal  children  until  their  twelfth  year 
were  to  be  addressed  merely  as  "Prince"  and  "You,"  and 
after  the  twelfth  year  as  "your  Highness."  The  rumor 
spread  and  the  officers  and  the  ladies-in-waiting  began 
addressing  Egon  as  "your  Majesty."  Ulrich  learned  of 
this.  There  was  a  "bloodless  battle,"  as  old  Frau  von 
Schwellenberg  described  it.  Egon  was  disciplined  se- 
verely, and  was  not  permitted  to  ride  or  walk  out  with- 
out his  tutor  for  a  fortnight,  not  even  through  his  own 
garden.  He  was  also  deprived  of  all  bonbons,  sweet- 
meats and  puddings.  Some  said  that  the  Prince  Regent 
had  been  unkind  enough  to  spank  the  little  King.  This 
was  probably  not  true.  Ulrich  did  not  believe  in  pun- 
ishing corporally  a  child  over  five  years  old. 

Sylvia  never  condescended  to  be  bothered  with  Egon. 
She  and  the  child  detested  each  other.  Ulrich  brought 
him  to  see  Alice  in  the  morning,  and  Gunther  frequently 
brought  the  little  lad  with  him.     Gunther  had  acquired 


354  THE    GREATER    JOY 

the  habit  of  running  in  to  see  his  "Cousinchen"  once  a 
day,  and  Alice  grew  genuinely  fond  of  him.  Once  in 
two  months,  Gunther  paid  a  flying  visit  to  Eng- 
land. "I've  a  little  cousin  over  there — an  orphan/'  he 
confided  to  Alice.  "Of  course  she  has  everything  that 
money  can  buy,  but  she's  lonesome,  poor  little  thing. 
And  she's  pathetically  fond  of  me.  So  I  run  over  to 
England  as  often  as  my  financial  condition  permits,  and 
give  Mary  the  time  of  her  life.  When  she's  a  little 
older — she's  only  twelve  now — I  want  Sylvia  to  have 
her  here  for  a  month  or  so.  ^She'll  have  a  better  time  in 
Hohe  than  she  has  at  St.  James,  I'll  wager." 

One  day  when  Egon  had  remained  after  Gunther  had 
left,  Alice,  in  answering  his  prattling,  unconsciously  used 
the  expression,  "Cousin  Ulrich."  The  child  looked  at 
her  in  perplexity. 

"He  is  not  your  cousin,  Countess,"  he  said.  "Every- 
body else  calls  him  Prince  Regent." 

"I  spoke  of  him  as  you  do,"  said  Alice  quietly. 

The  child  went  back  to  his  toys.  Alice  had  fitted  up 
one  room  for  him  with  tin  soldiers,  books  and  games, 
where  he  could  play  to  his  heart's  content.  Suddenly 
Egon  looked  up. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "that  you  and  Cousin  Ulrich  are 
very  fond  of  each  other." 

The  child's  perspicacity  troubled  her.  She  spoke  to 
Ulrich  about  it. 

"I'm  afraid  you  ought  not  to  let  Egon  come  and  see 
me  so  often.  One  wouldn't  imagine  that  such  a  small 
child  could  suspect " 

"Suspect  what,  dear?    He  knows  we're  not  married." 

"Yon  know  as  well  as  I  do  what  I  mean,  Ulrich." 

"He  is  beginning  to  ask  embarrassing  questions.  You 
and  I  were  not  required  to  start  those." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  855 

"What  do  you  tell  him?" 

"I  answer  him  truthfully." 

"Ulrich!"  She  was  horrified.  "You  don't  mean  to 
say  that  you  tell  a  child  of  nine  the  truth  about  certain 
matters?" 

"Why  not?  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  when  a 
precocious  child  is  denied  certain  information,  it  leads 
to  a  morbid,  prying,  unhealthy  curious  habit  of  mind  that 
is  deadly.  I  have  written  an  article  for  the  Medizin- 
ische  Wochensckrift  on  the  subject  after  studying 
Egon's  psychology.  Here — I  have  it  somewhere  about 
me."  He  found  the  clipping  and  handed  it  to  her.  In  the 
centre  of  the  page  was  a  small  picture  which  she  had  not 
seen  before.     She  commented  upon  this. 

"It's  my  medical  journal  face,  dear.  They  pose  me  in 
different  attitudes  and  varying  raiment  to  correspond  to 
the  divers  parts  I  play  upon  the  stage  of  life." 

"You  seem  a  different  man,  Ulrich."  She  went  on 
looking  at  the  little  picture.  It  fascinated  her.  "You 
seem  older,  serious — "  she  faltered,  and  said  no  more. 
She  did  not  like  to  tell  him  that  there  was  a  look  of  no- 
bility in  the  poor  little  photograph  that  was  not  always 
visible  in  his  face.  "The  picture  they  published  of  you 
previously,  half  a  year  ago,  that  also  seemed  rather  un- 
like you.  I  did  a  ridiculous  thing,  Ulrich,  when  I  got 
hold  of  that  former  picture.    I "  she  stopped  short. 

"Yes  ?"  he  prompted. 

"No,  I  will  not  tell  you.  I  am  forever  telling  you  all 
the  ridiculous  things  I  do  on  your  account." 

"I  love  to  hear  them.  Come,  sweetheart,  tell  me 
about  this  particular,  ridiculous  thing." 

"No,  Ulrich.  I  am  spoiling  you.  You  never  tell  me 
the  ridiculous  things  you  do  on  my  account.  Perhaps 
you  never  do  anything  ridiculous  for  me." 


356  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Quite  right,"  he  cried  gaily.  "What  is  ridiculous, 
sheer  nonsense,  when  you  do  it  for  me,  is  quite  in  order 
when  I  do  it  for  you,  because  you  are  the  cause  of  it." 

She  was  delighted  with  the  obvious  little  compliment. 
She  kissed  him  rapturously. 

"Now  tell  me  about  Egon,  Ulrich." 

"Well,  he  asked  the  question  with  which  children  usu- 
ally open  fire.  How  do  babies  happen  to  drift  into  the 
world?" 

"Yes?" 

"I  was  unprepared  to  answer  the  question,  because  T 
had  not  expected  it  yet.  So  I  told  him  the  stork  story, 
embroidering  it  artistically,  as  I  thought.  He  listened 
attentively.  I  flattered  myself  he  was  impressed. 
When  I  concluded,  he  said: 

"  'Cousin  Ulrich,  you  told  me  some  time  ago  that  a 
gentleman  never  fibs/  After  that,  nothing  remained 
but  to  tell  him  the  truth." 

"How  could  you !" 

Ulrich  laughed. 

"My  little  Puritan,"  he  said  tenderly,  "Egon  probably 
suspected  the  truth,  at  any  rate." 

"Nevertheless,  he  ought  not  to  come  here  so  often, 
particularly  when  you  are  here.  What  would  you  do  if 
he  questioned  you  concerning  me — us  ?" 

"I  should  say  to  him,  'Egon,  though  a  gentleman  may 
always  demand  information  of  a  general  character  from 
another  gentleman,  no  gentleman  asks  questions  of  a 
personal  nature  of  any  one/  " 

Alice  laughed.     She  said  determinedly: 

"I  think  he  shouldn't  see  so  much  of  me." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  wish  him  to  see  more  of  you. 
Unless  he  bores  you.  I  would  like  Egon  to  grow  up 
under  our  joint  influence.     A  boy  needs  not  only  a  man's 


THE    GREATER   JOY  357 

strong  hand  to  guide  him,  he  also  needs  a  woman's  ten- 
der   heart    to    cling    to.     And    then "    he    laughed 

cynically. 

"Yes?" 

"If  von  Bardolph  should  be  ugly  enough  to  try  some 
devil's  trick  of  his  own  to  ruin  your  name,  half  the 
world  will  not  believe  the  evidence  of  their  own  senses 
if  it  is  generally  known  that  Egon  comes  to  see  you  reg- 
ularly." 

Every  decent  and  honest  instinct  in  Alice  rose  in  re- 
bellion. 

"That  means,"  she  said  coldly,  "that  you  are  using 
Egon  as  a  cloak?" 

Neither  she  nor  Ulrich  guessed  how  near  the  day  was 
when  she  would  need  every  bit  of  evidence  she  could 
marshal  in  her  favor. 

A  few  days  before  the  last  Court  Ball  of  the  season 
was  to  take  place,  Sylvia  was  taking  tea  with  Alice.  It 
so  happened  that  they  were  alone,  excepting  for  old 
Freiin  von  Schwellenberg,  whose  company  Sylvia  fre- 
quently preferred  to  that  of  her  ladies-in-waiting,  for 
the  reason,  as  she  avowed  laughingly,  that  von  Schwell- 
enberg could  always  be  depended  upon  to  fall  asleep  at 
the  right  moment. 

"You're  going  to  wear  the  snow-flake  dress,  aren't 
you,  Alice?"  asked  Sylvia.  "You'll  be  the  sensation  of 
the  evening.  You  will  probably  be  the  only  woman 
wearing  an  entirely  new  gown." 

"I  am  not  going  to  wear  it,"  said  Alice,  with  averted 
eyes.  She  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  the  dress  since 
the  King's  death. 

"Why  not?" 

"The  fact  is,  I  don't  think  I'll  want  to  wear  it  at  all. 
I've  been  wanting  to  ask  you  whether  you  wouldn't  take 


358  THE    GREATER    JOY 

it  off  my  hands.  It  is  vastly  becoming  to  you,  more  so 
than  to  me,  because  you  are  dark." 

"You  know  that's  not  true,  Alice,"  replied  the  Prin- 
cess. "You  are  the  most  stunning  creature  any  woman 
ever  had  the  bad  fortune  to  see  in  that  gown.  I  couldn't 
wear  it." 

"That's  very  nice  of  you,  Sylvia.  I  shall  not  wear 
the  dress.  If  you  care  for  it,  I  shall  be  glad  to  let  you 
have  it  for  the  price  of  any  other  gown  you  may  have 
been  expecting  to  buy — your  own  price,  I  mean." 

Alice  felt  that  she  was  doing  proper  penace  in  mak- 
ing this  offer.  If  Sylvia  accepted  it,  as  she  doubtless 
would,  her  own  sinful  thoughts  would  be  expiated  for, 
for  can  self-abnegation  in  woman  reach  a  higher  notch 
than,  after  paying  a  fabulous  sum  for  a  gown  of  sur- 
passing beauty,  to  part  with  it  to  a  woman  almost  as 
handsome  as  herself,  knowing  that  that  other  woman 
will  shine  and  scintillate  in  the  feathers  which  would 
have  made  herself  a  paragon  of  loveliness  ? 

But  Sylvia  was  firm  in  her  refusal.  She  had  quite 
set  her  heart  on  seeing  Alice  in  the  gown. 

"You  will  capture  every  man.  Positively  you  must 
wear  the  gown." 

Alice  smiled.  She  thought  she  knew  what  particular 
man  the  Princess  meant.  Again  the  horrible,  haunting 
fear  beset  her  as  to  the  stand  Sylvia  would  take  should 
she  discover  the  truth.  Possibly  she  knew  even  now, 
for  had  she  not  warned  Ulrich  against  von  Bardolph? 
Still,  she  had  given  Ulrich  the  impression  of  believing 
in  Alice,  and  of  looking  upon  von  Bardolph's  menace  as 
merely  a  threat. 

She  offered  to  get  the  dress  and  show  it  to  Sylvia  once 
more,  hoping  to  persuade  her  to  take  it.  While  they 
were  admiring  it,  the    servant    announced  the  Prince 


THE    GREATER    JOY  359 

Regent,  and  Sylvia,  through  two  half-open  doors — for 
they  were  in  the  third  room  off  the  small  reception  room 
in  which  Ulrich  was  waiting — called  out  to  him: 

"Oh,  Ulrich,  is  it  you?  Countess  Gortza  has  been 
showing  me  the  loveliest  gown  in  the  world.  Don't  you 
want  to  see  it?" 

"Not  until  I  can  see  the  loveliest  woman  in  the  world 
in  it,"  he  gallantly  answered.  Halting  at  the  door,  he 
looked  in  discreetly,  as  if  he  had  never  before  entered 
the  sacred  precincts  of  a  lady's  boudoir. 

Sylvia  laughed  and  walked  into  the  reception  room. 

"Such  a  gown!"  she  sighed  with  mock  covetousness. 
"The  foolish  child  now  refuses  to  wear  it." 

"Capriciousness,"  Ulrich  replied  in  the  same  confiden- 
tial tone  in  which  the  Princess  had  addressed  him. 
"You're  looking  uncommonly  well,  Sylvia.  That  tailor- 
made  is  vastly  becoming." 

Sylvia  kissed  her  finger-tips  to  him. 

"How  charmingly  gallant  we  are  to-day,"  she  said 
carelessly. 

Alice  entered.  Ulrich  bowed  more  profoundly  than 
he  dared  when  strangers  were  present,  and  kissed  her 
hand. 

Old  Schwellenberg  awoke  at  this  moment. 

"Herr  Gott  in  Himmel,"  she  ejaculated  with  a  truly 
tragic  air,  "Der  Prins  Regent.  Ich  bitte  um  Entschul- 
digung." 

Ulrich  gravely  assured  her  that  she  had  not  slept  at 
all,  but  had  merely  snored,  and  she  joined  in  the  laugh 
his  drollery  occasioned.  Ulrich  had  a  certain  fondness 
for  the  old  Freiin,  and  his  manner  of  treating  her,  a 
blending  of  courtesy  and  teasing  mischievousness,  de- 
lighted the  old  woman. 

Sylvia  and  the  Freiin  left  soon  after. 


360  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Why  won't  you  wear  the  gorgeous  dress  of  which 
Sylvia  was  speaking  ?"  asked  Ulrich. 

"I  have  a  notion  it  will  be  a  sort  of  hoodoo,"  she  an- 
swered evasively. 

"Nonsense !" 

"Ulrich,  dear,  I  have  a  confession  to  make  about  that 
particular  dress." 

"You  paid  a  terrific  sum  for  it,  I  suppose." 

"Yes,  I  did."     And  she  mentioned  the  sum. 

He  smiled  indulgently. 

"She  is  learning  fast,"  he  thought  to  himself,  but  her 
adaptiveness  pleased  him. 

"If  you  are  short  in  consequence,"  he  said  amiably, 
"all  you  need  do  is  tell  me." 

"Of  course  I'm  not  short,  not  yet,  at  any  rate,"  she 
retorted  with  charming  candor.  "But  there  is  more  to 
my  confession."  Truthfully  she  related  how  troubled 
she  had  been  about  the  dress. 

He  listened  attentively.  The  look  of  condemnation, 
of  aversion  which  she  feared  might  appear  in  his  face, 
remained  absent.     He  was  not  blaming  her. 

"Of  what  had  you  been  thinking  just  before?"  he 
asked  gravely. 

"I  don't  remember.     I  think  I  told  you  everything." 

He  came  and  sat  down  beside  her  and  took  her  hand 
in  his. 

"No,  dear,  you  did  not  tell  me  everything.  Think, 
dear.  Try  and  remember  what  immediately  preceded 
your  curious  trend  of  thought." 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  caressing  her  hand,  his 
manner  was  that  of  the  physician. 

Her  memory  remained  a  blank. 

"After  von  Garde  left  you,  what  did  you  do?" 


THE   GREATER   JOY  361 

Patiently,  he  tried  to  lead  back  to  the  starting  point  her 
memory  that  had  wandered  afield. 

"I  went  to  my  room  to  dress." 

"And  what  did  you  think  of?    Of  going  to  Sylvia?" 

"Yes."  A  smile  rippled  over  her  face.  "I  thought  of 
seeing  you,  Ulrich,  dear,  and  it  worried  me  horribly  to 
think  I  would  have  to  say  some  ridiculous,  conventional 
words  to  you  in  the  presence  of  half  the  Court.  I  was 
afraid  I  would  be  stupid,  and  say  something  displeasing 
to  you,  and  aggravate  your  sorrow." 

He  put  his  arm  about  her,  and  drew  her  to  him. 

"That  was  what  I  wanted  to  hear,  dearest,"  he  said. 
"Don't  you  know  that  when  the  mind  has  been  unduly 
stimulated  by  grief,  sorrow,  or  anxiety,  it  suddenly  fas- 
tens upon  some  extraneous  subject  that  lends  itself  to 
being  worried  over,  and  which  furnishes  a  counter  irri- 
tant ?  Your  'wicked'  thoughts  about  the  dress  were  sim- 
ply mechanical  reflex  action.  Now,  dear,  if  you  have  no 
faith  in  me  as  a  man,  do  at  least  have  some  confidence 
in  me  as  a  physician." 

As  a  consequence  of  the  absolution  Ulrich  had  vouch- 
safed her  upon  pathological  grounds,  she  wore  the  snow- 
flake  dress  to  the  ball,  and  as  Sylvia  had  predicted,  she 
created  a  furore.  She  had  taken  half  the  Court  by  storm 
upon  her  first  appearance,  but  now,  even  those  who 
hated  her,  and  the  ranks  of  her  enemies  were  by  no  means 
inconsiderable,  reluctantly  admitted  that  her  beauty  was 
peerless. 

"She  is  almost  indecently  beautiful,"  exclaimed  Excel- 
lenz  von  Hermholz. 

"She  is  lovely  as  children  imagine  the  snow-fairy  to 
be,"  lisped  von  Bardolph.  His  little  rat  eyes  rolled  in- 
cessantly in  their  sockets.    "As  I  have  said  before,  Excel- 


S62  THE    GREATER    JOY 

lenz,  'a  face  to  change  the  map  of  empires/  unless  some- 
one interferes." 

It  was  noticed  and  commented  upon  that  soon  after  he 
left  the  ballroom  he  went  to  the  wine-room,  where  con- 
trary to  his  habit,  for  he  neither  drank  nor  smoked,  he 
sat  all  evening,  as  if  waiting  for  someone. 

Much  later,  an  hour  or  so  after  supper,  Ulrich  asked 
Alice  to  have  some  refreshment  in  one  of  the  small  con- 
servatories that  opened  on  the  ballroom.  She  was  on  his 
arm.  As  they  approached  the  conservatory  a  strange  si- 
lence fell  upon  the  room.  In  a  crowded  place,  the  atmos- 
phere heavy  with  the  breath  of  many  persons,  and  sur- 
charged with  the  emotions  of  many  people,  such  a  silence 
is  prophetic  of  some  unusual  occurrence.  Ulrich  and 
Alice,  delightfully  busy  with  each  other,  and  engaged 
in  animated  conversation,  were  oblivious  of  this  strange 
undercurrent.  A  rumor  was  running  and  spreading  like 
wild-fire,  and  Gunther,  dispatched  by  Sylvia,  was  hur- 
rying across  the  room  to  intercept  Ulrich  and  his  com- 
panion. He  was  making  his  way  as  rapidly  as  he  could, 
but  he  was  impeded  by  the  crush  of  people.  He  could 
not  elbow  them  and  push  his  way,  nor  could  he,  when  he 
came  to  an  open  bit  of  floor,  break  into  a  run.  He  was 
unable  to  reach  Ulrich. 

Unprepared,  therefore,  Alice  suddenly  found  herself 
confronted  by  Freifrau  von  Garde,  young  von  Garde's 
mother.  This  lady's  manner  was  habitually  a  cross  be- 
tween hysteria  and  affectation — "exaltirt"  as  the  Ger- 
mans term  it.  The  difference  in  manner  and  appearance 
between  mother  and  son  was  one  of  the  perennial  topics 
of  conversation  in  Hohe.  Alice  had  avoided  her  with  an 
instinctive  shrinking.  Now  this  woman  barred  her  way, 
and  her  more  than  usually  agitated  manner  spoke  elo- 
quently of  some  unpleasantness  to  be  disclosed. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  363 

"Countess  Gortza,"  she  cried,  with  an  exaggerated  mo- 
tion of  hands  and  arms,  intended  to  convey  utter  despair, 
"I  believe  you  are  at  heart  a  good  woman,  or  I  would 
not  make  this  appeal  to  you.  My  son  has  struck  across 
the  mouth  General  von  Hollen,  whom,  everybody  knows, 
is  the  best  shot  in  Europe — because  the  General  coupled 
you  name  with  that  of  a  certain  illustrious  person.  My 
boy  believes  in  you.  You  know  very  well  that  the  duel 
which  must  take  place  unless  Herman  apologizes  to  the 
General,  will  result  in  my  son's  death.  I  implore  you  to 
save  my  boy  by  telling  him  the  truth.  He  will  believe 
no  one  but  yourself." 

Alice  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone.  She  was  white  as 
death.  So  the  blow  had  fallen  at  last  which  she  had 
dreaded  and  feared,  and  which  she  had  braced  herself 
against  for  a  year.  But  the  incredible  swiftness  with 
which  it  had  fallen  appalled  and  stunned  her.  She  felt 
vaguely  that  she  was  unable  to  focus  her  attention  on  the 
problem  which  claimed  her  immediate  attention.  The 
moment  was  one  of  such  intensity  that  she  was  unaware 
how  long  she  stood  silent,  without  answering.  The  si- 
lence was  unbroken  for  a  moment  only,  but  to  her,  her 
blood  throbbing  tempestuously,  it  seemed  a  century. 

Ulrich  answered  for  her,  speaking  in  his  softest,  most 
languorous  voice: 

"My  dear  Freifrau,  your  son  is  a  gentleman  and  a  gal- 
lant soldier;  he  would  give  you  poor  thanks  for  trying  to 
rob  him  of  the  honor  of  protecting  a  virtuous  woman's 
name." 

But  the  hysterical  instincts,  perhaps,  too,  the  maternal 

istincts,  of  the  great  lady  were  too  acutely  aroused  to  be 
silenced  so  easily,  though  it  was  the  Prince  Regent  who 
signified  his  wish  that  the  matter  be  dropped.  What  was 
standing  at  Court,  social  distinction,  what  were  all  the 


364.  THE    GREATER    JOY 

fripperies  and  honor  of  Court  life,  compared  to  her  boy's 
life?  Her  excited  imagination  pictured  him  dead.  She 
cried  menacingly : 

"Your  Highness  can  scarcely  say  anything  else — but 
you — Countess  von  Gortza,  I  appeal  to  you  once  more." 

A  labyrinth  seemed  to  open  before  Alice,  and  some  one 
was  inviting  her  to  step  over  the  brink.  A  blind  force 
seemed  to  be  pushing  her  on  and  on  and  on,  and  sud- 
denly she  realized  that  unless  she  spoke  the  truth  she 
would  hate  herself  for  the  rest  of  her  life  with  a  hate 
that  beggars  the  torments  of  purgatory.  She  touched  her 
tongue  to  her  lips.  They  were  hard  and  dry.  Never  had 
it  been  such  a  physical  effort  to  speak,  so  hard  to  frame 
a  sentence,  so  difficult  to  sift  individual  words  out  of 
the  chaos  of  language  and  bind  them  into  coherent  sen- 
tences.   Her  misery  was  pitiable. 

Ulrich  attempted  to  slip  his  arm  about  her,  and  lead 
her  away.  She  resisted,  without  seeming  to  resist.  Her 
arm,  which  he  tried  again  to  place  upon  his,  was  like  lead. 
He  found  it  impossible  without  employing  force. 

Suddenly  she  spoke  in  an  unnatural,  hollow  voice,  a 
voice  that  might  have  been  the  aural  spectre  of  some  poor, 
sin-laden  soul,  risen  out  of  the  grave  to  unbosom  itself 
of  a  confession  without  which  peace  and  rest  cannot 
be  found. 

"Freifrau  von  Garde/'  she  said,  "you  may  tell  your 
son  from  me  that  he  had  better  apologize  to  General  von 
Hollen." 

Ulrich  did  not  again  offer  her  his  arm.  His  face  was 
white  as  her  own,  and  was  convulsed  with  anger.  He 
was  furious,  so  furious,  that  it  required  every  bit  of  his 
inherited  breeding  to  keep  him  from  giving  immediate 
vent  to  his  temper.  He  choked  back  his  wrath,  and  with- 
out glancing  at  anyone,  passed  from  the  room  alone. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  365 

A  lice  saw  him  go,  but  did  not  realize  the  import  of  his 
going.  The  shock  of  being  denuded  of  this  last  remnant 
of  reputation,  to  which  she  had  clung  so  tenaciously,  had 
stunned  her  sensibilities  and  made  a  perception  of  any- 
thing else  impossible.  She  was  aware  that  he  had  gone, 
but  his  going  was  only  part  and  parcel  of  the  night- 
mare in  which  she  was  living.  A  tremor  passed  over  her. 
General  von  Ruegen,  whose  studied  contempt  of  her  in 
the  past  had  verged  almost  on  brutality,  stepped  forward. 

"Countess  Gortza,"  he  said,  "you  are  not  well.  May  I 
offer  you  my  arm?" 

He  took  her  to  the  ladies'  parlor,  and  sent  a  waiter  for 
some  wine,  and  a  maid  for  her  wraps.  He  pressed  the 
wine  upon  her,  but  she  shook  her  head  in  dumb  misery 
in  protest  against  drinking  it.  The  smell  of  the  stuff 
made  her  ill.  It  brought  back  too  vividly  the  supper 
room,  the  sweet,  heavy  odor  of  the  flowers,  the  laugh- 
ter of  the  women,  the  insinuating  smiles  of  the  men,  and 
sweet  heavens!  the  glances  which  Ulrich  clandestinely 
bestowed  upon  her  whenever  he  believed  himself  un- 
watched. 

"Take  me  to  my  carriage/'  she  begged.  "Please, 
please  get  my  carriage  for  me.     I  want  to  go  home !" 

General  von  Ruegen  obediently  dispatched  a  lackey 
for  the  Countess's  carriage.  At  this  moment  Baroness 
von  Hess  entered  the  room.  She  saw  the  glass  of  wine, 
untouched  upon  the  table  before  Alice. 

"A  glass  of  water  will  be  better  for  her,"  she  said  in 
a  cool,  imperative  voice. 

The  General  effaced  himself,  and  waited  outside  until 
time  to  help  the  girl  to  her  carriage,  grateful  to  be  re- 
lieved of  other  responsibilities.  Baroness  von  Hess 
meanwhile  was  forcing  her  to  drink  a  glass  of  water. 

"She  is  triumphing  over  me,"  thought  Alice,  and  she 


366  THE    GREATER    JOY 

recollected  how  bitterly  she  had  hated  this  woman,  but 
nothing  was  further  from  the  Baroness's  mind. 

"Poor  little  girl/'  she  whispered,  her  arm  about  Alice's 
shoulder,  "poor  little  girl!  It  is  hard,  but  it  will  pass. 
Believe  me,  it  will  pass.  You  love  him,  and  he  loves 
you." 

"And  you?"  Alice  choked  out  the  words  almost 
unconsciously. ' 

"I  have  wanted  to  tell  you  that  right  along.  I  did  not 
love  him,  and,  what  is  of  more  consequence  to  you,  he 
did  not  love  me." 

It  was  impossible  to  doubt  the  Baroness's  words,  or 
the  kindness  which  prompted  her  to  speak  at  this  mo- 
ment. She  continued :  "He  was  amusing  to  me — I  the 
same  to  him.  There  was  no  love,  none,  a  little  passion, 
perhaps,  the  pleasure  of  the  chase  for  him,  of  resisting 
for  me.  Does  it  shock  you  to  hear  a  woman  confess 
that  she  gave  herself  to  a  man  without  even  the  excuse 
of  love?  Remember,  dear  child,  our  morality  differs 
from  yours.  To  us  the  honor  of  a  liaison  with  a  prince 
is  a  great  one,  not  ninety-nine  women  out  of  a  hundred 
would  resist  it.  I  am,  perhaps,  one  of  the  few  persons 
here,  who  realize  that  it  was  no  thought  of  gain  or  van- 
ity which  made  you  succumb  to  Prince  Ulrich.  Now,  I 
think,  all  know  and  all  understand.  And  for  once,  our 
society,  so  cruel,  so  narrow,  so  petty,  so  vindictive,  was 
rendered  charitable  by  the  magic  of  your  personality  and 
the  purity  of  your  love  for  the  Prince.  You  will  live 
through  a  few  bad  days,  Countess,  but  be  brave.  Re- 
member he  loves  you,  and  if  you  need  a  friend,  send 
for  me." 

Alice's  mind  was  still  too  hazy  to  attempt  an  analysis 
of  the  Baroness's  motives.  These  were,  in  truth,  wholly 
disinterested.     She  had  not  loved  Ulrich,  as  she  said,  and 


THE    GREATER    JOY  367 

the  honor  of  the  liaison  with  him  had  been  too  danger- 
ous to  be  indulged  in  indefinitely.  She  was  thankful  he 
was  safely  off  her  hands. 

"I — I — want  to  go  home,"  Alice  said  after  a  moment. 
"I  thank  you,  Baroness.  You  have  been  very  kind." 
She  was  struggling  to  regain  her  composure. 

General  von  Ruegen  appeared  at  the  door  as  silently 
as  he  had  vanished.  He  gave  her  his  arm,  and  piloted 
her  through  the  halls.  An  eloquent  silence  fell  upon  the 
men  and  women  who  were  lounging  about. 

He  helped  her  into  the  carriage,  and  pushed  the  fluffy 
flounces  of  her  gown  in  after  her.  In  her  perturbation, 
she  had  forgotten  her  gown.  As  he  was  about  to  close 
the  carriage  door,  she  laid  a  trembling,  cold  hand  upon 
his  coat  sleeve. 

"Herr  General,  Excellenz,"  she  murmured.  "Is  he 
still  here?    Has  his  car  gone?" 

"I  will  go  and  find  out,"  he  said. 

He  came  back  in  a  moment.  "He  is  still  here,"  he 
said. 

For  a  moment  he  feared  she  would  ask  him  to  carry 
a  message,  but  she  merely  inclined  her  head,  and  said 
"Thank  you"  once  more  in  a  pitiful,  heart-broken  voice 
that  brought  the  tears  to  the  old  man's  eyes.  He  closed 
the  door  gently,  feeling  as  if  he  were  shutting  in  a 
corpse,  shutting  it  in  with  its  dead  memories  and  its 
dead  sins. 

Through  the  speaking  tube  she  called  to  the  footman, 
and  bade  him  open  the  window.  The  air  inside  the  car- 
riage was  stifling. 

"Drive  home  through  the  Thiergarten"  she  ordered. 

The  current  of  fresh  air  which  streamed  through  the 
open  window  gave  her  some  relief.  Greedily  she  drank 
in  the  keen  night  air.     The  streets  were  deserted.     The 


368  THE    GREATER    JOY 

pavement,  wet  from  a  light  rain,  showed  a  deep  leaden 
hue  under  the  electric  lights.  The  carriage  rolled  lightly 
along  the  Grosse  Muse  enstr  ass  e,  dim,  distinguished  and 
lonely,  and  then  lurched  into  the  Grosse  Opernstrasse, 
into  a  sudden  blaze  of  light  and  noise.  There  had  been 
a  ball  at  the  Grosses  Opernhaus,  and  the  opera  house 
was  belching  forth  its  visitors.  As  Alice's  carriage,  con- 
spicuous by  its  snow-white  horses,  rolled  by,  a  murmur 
of  recognition  agitated  the  crowd.  Her  excited  nerves 
seemed  to  apprehend  the  words,  "Prinz  Ulrich's  Ge- 
liebte."  She  grew  crimson  with  mortification.  So 
everybody  knew!  And  she  had  held  so  tenaciously  to 
her  paltry,  pitiful  belief  that  no  one  knew,  when  the 
truth  had  been  unmistakable  to  everyone — to  everyone 
except  that  wretched,  misguided  boy. 

She  had  publicly  branded  herself  as  a  scarlet  woman ! 
Publicly  branded  as  a  scarlet  woman!  And  her  father 
had  been  a  village  divine! 

By  a  fantastic  trick  of  memory  there  arose  before  her 
eyes  a  vision  of  the  day  when  she  had  broken  of!  her 
engagement  to  Ned,  because  Sally  had  explained  to  her 
the  nature  of  marriage!  She  remembered  the  horror, 
the  shame,  the  unutterable  disgust  that  had  sprung  up  in 
her,  that  for  days  had  not  left  her,  that  had  been  re- 
plenished as  from  some  invisible  well.  She  remembered 
she  had  vowed  herself  to  celibacy  that  day,  to  abstinence 
from  what  had  appeared  to  her  as  the  most  unthinkably 
terrible  thing  of  which  she  had  ever  heard. 

She  had  been  giving  herself  to  Ulrich  for  almost  a 
year.  She  had  supposed  no  one  knew.  She  had  sat 
with  him  in  the  royal  box  at  the  Opera  and  theatre,  in 
the  full  glare  of  the  public  gaze,  and  she  had  supposed 
that  no  one  knew.     She  had  lain  in  his  arms  at  night, 


THE    GREATER    JOY  360 

lulled  and  stilled  by  his  caresses,  and  she  had  supposed 
that  no  one  knew ! 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  he  might  be  angry 
with  her  for  speaking  the  truth  in  public,  for  not  leav- 
ing it  to  him  to  arrange  matters.  She  became  horribly 
frightened.  What,  if  in  addition  to  the  anguish  of  los- 
ing her  last  shred  of  self-respect,  he  would  impose  upon 
her  the  misery  of  his  anger?  She  rebuked  herself  for 
harboring  so  absurd  a  suspicion.  Ulrich  angry  with 
her!  That  was  impossible,  especially  at  such  a  moment. 
Ulrich,  who  was  always  so  kind,  so  tactful,  so  careful  of 
appearance  for  her  sake,  who  had  lied  for  her  that  very 
evening ! 

She  became  more  tranquil.  They  were  rolling  along 
the  Thum  und  Taxis  Allee  in  the  Thiergarten.  There 
were  few  lights,  and  these  were  tiny  gas  jets,  not  elec- 
tric lights.  The  night  was  dark,  and  the  poplars,  taci- 
turn and  forbidding,  standing  like  sentinels  on  both  sides 
of  the  Allee,  assumed  gigantic  proportions,  seemed  alive, 
seemed  leviathans  ready  to  seize  her,  to  carry  her  away 
to  some  indescribable  pit,  to  unknown  horrors. 

Terror  swooped  down  upon  her  once  more. 

She  leaned  as  far  back  as  she  could,  and  pulling  down 
the  shades,  closed  her  eyes  to  shut  out  the  terror  of  the 
blackness  outside. 

She  seemed  on  the  verge  of  madness.  She  thought 
she  must  surely  go  mad  unless  she  could  feel  Ulrich \c 
protecting  arm  about  her.  She  began  repeating  his 
name  to  reassure  herself,  as  if  it  were  a  cabalistic  sign 
to  keep  away  evil  spirits. 

"Ulrich,  Ulrich,  Ulrich !" 

Thank  heaven,  they  had  left  the  Thiergarten  and  were 
rolling  along  the  soft  macadamized  road  that  led  to  her 


370  THE    GREATER   JOY 

home!  In  front  of  the  house  she  caught  a  glimpse  of 
what  she  thought  was  his  car. 

She  fairly  flew  up  the  stairs  and  into  the  lobby,  trip- 
ping more  than  once  in  her  haste. 

"Ulrich,  Ulrich,  Ulrich !" 

In  another  moment  she  would  fling  herself  into  his 
arms,  would  feel  the  warm  pressure  of  his  strong  body, 
would  feel  his  warm  breath  upon  her  neck.  When  her 
maid  opened  the  door,  she  saw  at  a  glance  that  there 
was  no  light  in  any  of  the  rooms  excepting  in  her  sleep- 
ing room. 

"Where  is  the  Prince  Regent  waiting  V*  she  asked  in 
an  agitated,  excited  voice. 

The  girl  answered : 

"He  is  not  here,  Madame/' 

She  stumbled  into  her  room.  She  allowed  Estelle  to 
remove  her  cloak  and  veil  and  gloves,  and  then  she  dis- 
missed her. 

"Ulrich,  Ulrich,  Ulrich !" 

She  repeated  his  name  with  ever  increasing  nervous- 
ness. Was  it  possible  that  he  was  angry?  And  at  such 
a  time,  when  her  heart  called  for  him  ? 

"Ulrich,  Ulrich,  Ulrich!" 

Could  she  not,  by  repeating  his  name,  send  to  him 
some  telepathic  message  that  would  send  him  hurrying 
to  her  side  ?  Surely,  he  could  not  be  so  childish,  so  cruel 
as  to  harbor  anger  against  her  at  such  a  moment !  An- 
ger, and  why  ?  Anger,  because  she  had  spoken  the  truth 
when  to  remain  silent  would  have  meant  murder? 

She  heard  the  chug-chug  of  an  approaching  automo- 
bile. It  slackened  speed,  it  stopped.  She  sat  quite 
still,  waiting  to  hear  the  turning  of  his  key  in  the  lock. 
But  the  longed-for  sound  did  not  occur. 

She  heard  footsteps  on  the  pavement  below.     Again 


THE    GREATER    JOY  371 

she  strained  her  nerves  waiting,  waiting  for  the  sound 
of  the  key.     And  again  she  waited  in  vain. 

She  sat  on  the  bed,  huddled  together.  Her  gown  was 
unbuttoned,  and  half  hung  from  her  shoulders.  It  was 
almost  four  o'clock.  Still  she  sat  and  waited,  uncon- 
scious of  the  chill  in  the  room.  Suddenly  she  sneezed. 
That  aroused  her  from  her  reverie.  She  had  barely  suf- 
ficient energy  left  to  undress  herself.  The  chill  damp- 
ness of  the  small  hours  of  the  morning  seemed  to  creep 
in  from  out  of  doors. 

She  undressed,  barely  brushing  her  beautiful  hair, 
over  which  she  usually  loitered  a  good  half  hour,  per- 
functorily washing  her  face  and  hands,  then  crept  mis- 
erably to  bed,  leaving  the  gas  burning  brightly  above 
her  head. 

She  tossed  and  tossed,  but  she  could  not  fall  asleep 
from  thinking  of  him.  She  shivered.  She  was  intensely 
cold.  Why,  oh,  why,  did  he  not  come?  Had  he  ever 
wanted  her  as  much  as  she  now  wanted  him?  A 
spasm  of  pain  shot  through  her.  She  thought  she 
must  go  mad.  She  buried  her  face  in  the  pillows  and 
wept. 

The  clock  struck  five.  She  stopped  crying  and  tried 
to  think.  But  she  was  incapable  of  crystallizing  her 
thoughts ;  they  seemed  merely  to  weave  an  undercurrent 
of  pain  for  her  heart.  Could  one's  thoughts  hurt? 
Madness,  again. 

The  clock  struck  six.     After  that  she  slept. 

When  she  awoke  the  clock  was  striking  the  hour — 
nine.  Every  stroke  seemed  to  be  a  voice  calEng  "Ul- 
rich,  Ulrich,  Ulrich."  Her  thoughts  resumed  their 
thread  at  the  exact  point  where  sleep  had  broken  it  off. 
The  illusion  of  continuity  was  so  remarkable  that  for  a 


Sn  THE    GREATER    JOY 

moment  Alice  believed  she  had  not  slept  at  all.  Then 
she  realized  and  remembered. 

Estelle  had  turned  out  the  gas  while  she  slept,  and 
had  drawn  the  blinds. 

Alice  sprang  out  of  bed,  let  in  some  light,  and  in  her 
night-gown,  her  feet  slipperless,  ran  to  the  telephone 
and  gave  Ulrich's  private  number,  the  number  which 
was  in  possession  of  barely  half  a  dozen  persons  besides 
herself.    Ulrich's  valet  answered  the  'phone. 

"Johann,  is  the  Prinz  Regent  up?" 

"No,  Countess.  He  gave  instructions  when  he  re- 
tired that  he  was  not  to  be  called.,, 

"When  did  he  retire?" 

"At  six." 

"At  what  time  did  he  return?" 

Johann's  voice  expressed  a  momentary  hesitation,  then 
continued  bravely :  "It  was  a  little  after  three,  I  should 
say,  when  he  came  home.  He  went  directly  to  the  labo- 
ratory, and  when  I  followed  him  half  an  hour  later  with 
his  cigarette  case,  which  he  had  forgotten,  he  was  pac- 
ing the  floor,  and — and " 

"Yes,  Johann?" 

"It  has  never  happened  before,  Countess.  He  would 
not  smoke." 

"Johann,  as  soon  as  his  Highness  awakens,  ask  him 
to  call  me." 

"Yes,  Countess." 

She  replaced  the  receiver,  and  sat  crouching  at  the 
escritoire,  wondering  what  it  all  meant.  Probably  he 
was  nerving  himself  to  tell  her  he  would  marry  her. 
She  felt  she  would  hate  him  if  he  made  the  offer  at  such 
a  time  in  his  usual  condescending,  sacrificial  way.  What 
happiness  it  would  be  if  he  came  to  her  and  said :  "Alice, 
I  want  you  to  marry  me,"  in  the  tender,  impassioned, 


THE    GREATER    JOY  373 

reverent  tone  he  employed  when  genuine  and  sincere. 
"Alice,  I  want  you  to  marry  me."  Would  he  speak 
those  words  to  her  in  that  tone  ? 

She  arose  and  stretched  herself  wearily.  Quarter 
after  nine. 

She  would  bathe  and  breakfast  and  dress — that  would 
help  pass  the  time,  and  perhaps,  perhaps  he  would  be 
awake  shortly,  and  then  he  would  ring  her  up  on  the 
telephone.  It  occurred  to  her  that  he  might  call  her 
while  she  was  bathing,  and  she  eliminated  the  bath.  She 
was  dressed  and- had  her  cup  of  chocolate  by  half  past 
ten,  but  there  had  come  no  telephone  call.  The  clock 
struck  eleven.  Her  impatience  and  anxiety  got  the  bet- 
ter of  her.  Again  she  went  to  the  'phone,  and  again 
Johann  answered. 

"Is  the  Prince  Regent  up  yet?" 

"Yes,  Countess.     I — I "  the  honest  fellow  began 

stuttering  and  stammering. 

"Did  you  forget  to  give  him  my  message?"  Alice 
asked  smoothly. 

"No,  Countess.  I  gave  him  your  message.  He  said 
nothing." 

"Is  he  at  home  now?" 

"Yes,  Countess." 

"Call  him."  The  voice  of  Johann  became  very  faint 
and  uncertain  over  the  last  words.  He  returned  to  the 
telephone  in  a  second's  time. 

"His  Highness  regrets — he  is  busy." 

Alice  hung  up  the  receiver  without  replying.  She 
felt  as  if  some  one  had  struck  her  a  blow  in  the  face. 
Her  heart  seemed  to  have  forcibly  stopped.  Had  it 
come  to  that  between  them?     And  why? 

Von  Garde  was  announced.  She  was  tempted  to  let 
Estelle  tell  him  that  she  was  indisposed  and  unable  to 


374  THE    GREATER    JOY 

see  him.  Why  had  he  come?  What  would  he  say? 
She  vaguely  thought  that  it  would  be  cowardly,  selfish 
and  inhuman  to  refuse  to  see  him.  She  swallowed  ten 
grains  of  bromide  before  she  had  sufficient  courage  to 
face  him. 

She  was  so  agitated,  as  she  entered  the  reception  room 
in  which  von  Garde  was  waiting,  that  she  was  unable  to 
utter  a  word.  The  young  officer  bowed  stiffly,  but  did 
not  accept  the  chair  to  which  she  motioned.  She  her- 
self collapsed,  rather  than  sat  down  upon  a  chair. 

"Countess  von  Gortza,  I  have  come  to  ask  you  a  sim- 
ple question.  You  heard  of  the  occurrence  last  night 
in  the  wine-room?" 

She  forced  a  half  smothered  "Yes." 

"I  am  told  that  afterward,  my  mother  made  an  un- 
pleasant scene.     It  is  reported  that  you  said " 

He  came  to  a  dead  stop. 

"Why  don't  you  go  on?"  she  demanded.  Her  self- 
possession  had  returned.  She  could  not  shirk  telling 
him  the  truth  now  any  more  than  she  had  shirked  tell- 
ing it  the  night  before.  If  anything,  it  was  easier 
now. 

He  did  not  reply  to  her  question,  and  when  she  looked 
at  him  again,  she  saw  that  he  was  fumbling  at  his  col- 
lar, as  if  struggling  for  air.  The  distress  pictured  in 
his  face  was  horrible  to  behold.  His  face  was  livid ;  his 
eyes  were  unnaturally  bright.  Compassion  for  him  over- 
came her  own  distress. 

"What  did  you  say — your  last  words?"  he  demanded 
abruptly. 

"I  said,"  she  retorted,  "that  you  owed  General  von 
Hollen  an  apology." 

"Great  God!     Then  it  is  true." 

She  arose,  and  crossed  to  the  fire-place,  turning  her 


THE    GREATER    JOY  975 

back  on  him.  She  clung  to  a  chair  for  support.  Fi- 
nally, she  said: 

"Yes,  it  is  true." 

He  came  and  stood  beside  her.  She  experienced  a 
singular  curiosity  as  to  what  he  was  about  to  do.  She 
thought  that  possibly  he  would  shoot  her,  but  she  felt 
no  fear.  She  thought  she  would  almost  be  glad  to  have 
her  troubles  and  perplexities  ended  for  her  in  that  sim- 
ple, brutal  way.  But  when  she  faced  him,  she  saw  that 
he  had  no  weapon  in  his  hands.  Suddenly  he  raised  his 
hands  and  took  her  roughly  by  the  shoulders,  his  fin- 
gers pressing  into  her  tender  flesh  until  she  winced. 

"Tell  me  it  is  not  true,"  he  said,  "and  I  will  believe 
you." 

Her  eyes  were  dim  with  tears.  She  pitied  him  im- 
measurably. 

"It  is  true,"  she  said  in  a  hopeless,  forlorn  voice. 

He  relinquished  his  grasp  on  her  shoulders,  and 
walked  to  the  door.  Then  he  came  back  to  her  once 
more. 

"True  or  not,"  he  said  wildly,  "I  will  not  believe  that 
you  are  not  a  good  woman.  I  love  you.  I  love  you 
with  a  passion  and  a  tenderness  that  I  would  not  have 
believed  it  possible  for  mortal  man  to  feel  for  mortal 
woman.  Countess  von  Gortza — Alice — will  you  marry 
me?" 

"It  is  out  of  the  question,"  she  answered  kindly  but 
firmly. 

Presently  he  went  on: 

"The  Prince  Regent  cannot  marry  you.  You  have 
been  weak,  you  have  trusted  him,  you  have  been  fool- 
ish, but  you  are  not  wicked.  Marry  me.  I  will  take 
you  away  from  here.  I  am  rich.  I  will  devote  my  en- 
tire life  to  making  you  happy." 


376  THE    GREATER    JOY 

• 

"No,  no,"  she  replied  feebly.  He  continued,  his  voice 
melting  in  a  crescendo  of  passion  and  tenderness: 

"You  do  not  love  me  now.  I  understand  that.  Marry 
me,  nevertheless.  I  will  win  your  love.  Until  I  do,  we 
will  be  as  brother  and  sister.  But  give  me  the  right  to 
care  for  you,  to  protect  you,  to  cherish  you.  All  I  ask 
at  present  is  to  serve  you,  to  be  near  you." 

She  turned  and  looked  into  his  impassioned  eyes.  Oh, 
to  be  worthy  of  such  love  as  that!  But  she  felt  no 
emotion  save  that  of  pity,  and  perhaps  of  gratitude. 

"Herr  Adjutant"  she  said,  "you  are  talking  wildly. 
You  are  offering  to  ruin  your  entire  future  for 
me. 

"My  future  matters  nothing,"  he  said  hastily.  "Your 
happiness  matters  everything — your  happiness  would 
bring  happiness  to  me.  Nothing  else  can  do  that.  I 
cannot  leave  you  here — it  is  all  very  well  at  present, 
while  the  Prince  loves  you — but  you  do  not  realize  as 
well  as  I,  who  have  seen  him  discard  one  woman  after 
another,  what  it  will  mean  to  you  when  his  love  grows 
cold!  Believe  me,  you  will  be  better  off  as  my  wife. 
Do  not  sacrifice  your  entire  life  for  the  sake  of  a  few 
more  months  of  delirious  happiness.  Return  to  a  life  of 
virtue — marry  me  to-day,  to-morrow,  next  week — but 
break  with  the  Prince  at  once." 

"I  cannot,"  she  said.  "I  cannot.  I  love  him  the  way 
you  love  me." 

"He  is  unworthy  of  you,  and  of  such  love !"  cried  von 
Garde.  "Why  won't  you  believe  me?  He  will  never 
marry  you,  no  matter  what  promises  he  may  have  made 
you.     Surely  you  must  realize  that  by  this  time?" 

She  did  not  answer.  She  was  looking  searchingly  at 
the  young  officer.  Her  own  suffering  was  completely 
submerged  by  her  pity  for  him  and  her  desire  and  her 


THE    GREATER    JOY  377 

— — — i^^^—  » 

determination  to  save  for  him  what  she  could  out  of  the 
wreckage  she  had  made  of  his  life.  She  spoke  very 
quietly,  in  a  subdued  and  smooth  voice. 

"Herr  Adjutant!'  she  said,  "the  Prince  Regent  did 
not  promise  to  marry  me.  He  gave  me  the  choice  of 
marriage  or — of  this.  I  knew  what  a  sacrifice  marriage 
would  have  involved,  and  I  preferred  an  unlegalized  af- 
fair. I  went  to  him  with  my  eyes  wide  open.  He  is 
not  to  be  blamed  any  more  than  I." 

It  wrung  her  heart  to  see  the  look  of  hopeless  inertia 
that  came  into  his  face.  Her  words  had  done  their 
work.  He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  she  heard 
him  groan  like  a  man  in  extreme  physical  pain.  Then, 
without  looking  at  her  again,  he  went  to  the  door.  There 
he  burst  forth  once  more: 

"Since  you  will  not  marry  me,  why  didn't  you  have 
the  courage  to  lie  for  your  own  sake?  It  would  have 
been  sweeter  for  me  by  far  to  lie  dead  and  cold  with  a 
bullet  through  my  heart,  than  to  carry  this  defiled  image 
of  you  about  with  me.  Forgive  me,"  he  went  on.  "I 
am  not  angry  with  you.  But  I  curse  Prince  Ulrich  and 
his  rank!  I  would  give  everything  I  possess — my  fu- 
ture, my  life,  my  career,  the  possibility  of  winning  your 
love — if  our  rank  were  the  same,  that  I  might  challenge 
him  to  a  duel  and  kill  him.     Good-bye." 

His  voice  was  hoarse  and  broken.  He  bowed  and 
was  gone.  But  the  look  of  anguish  in  his  face  seemed 
to  have  remained  behind,  seemed  to  have  become  a  tan- 
gible thing  limned  against  the  rose  and  gold  of  the 
panel  in  the  wall  against  which  his  face  had  been  sil- 
houetted. 

The  inactivity,  her  thoughts,  her  memories,  her  fears, 
drove  her  half-mad.  Finally,  at  two  o'clock,  she  could 
stand  the  suspense  no  longer.     She  ordered  her  electric 


378  THE    GREATER    JOY 

> 

brougham,  and  set  off  for  the  Neues  Palais,  where  Ul- 
rich  lived.     In  the  hall  she  met  Sylvia. 

"You!"  exclaimed  the  Princess.  She  almost  hissed 
the  one  word.  Then,  "Come  in  here."  And  she  led  the 
way  into  a  small  room. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  upbraid  you,  Alice,"  she  began  ex- 
plosively, "but  how  could  you,  how  could  you  admit  in 
public  that  Ulrich  had  been  lying  to  save  you?  Can't 
you  imagine  how  furious  he  is?  Good  heavens,  how 
wretched  you  look!     He  is  furious,  furious." 

"Is  that  why  he  is  angry?"  stammered  Alice. 

"Yes.  Oh,  what  a  mess  you  have  made  of  things! 
What  would  one  lie  more  or  less  have  mattered  to  you? 
You  don't  suppose  Ulrich  would  have  allowed  this  duel 
to  come  off?  He  would  have  sent  for  von  Garde,  and 
explained  matters  unter  vier  Aug  en.  But  to  admit  the 
truth  publicly — to  give  Ulrich  the  lie  publicly — it  was 
inexcusable !" 

"Where  is  Ulrich?" 

"What  do  you  intend  doing?" 

"I  want  to  see  him.     I  want  to  go  to  him." 

"No,  Alice,  not  now.  I  do  not  mind  telling  you  that 
I  was  so  angry  with  you  myself  last  night  that  I  vowed 
I  would  wash  my  hands  of  you.  But  I'll  try  and  help 
you." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Alice  calmly.  "But  please  tell 
me  where  Ulrich  is?" 

"No — don't  attempt  to  see  him  to-day.  Let  him 
alone.  The  men  of  our  family  are  all  notoriously  cruel 
to  their  women  when  angry  with  them,  and  I  think  that 
Ulrich,  for  all  his  charming  manner  and  courtliness,  can 
be  quite  as  much  of  a  brute  as  the  rest  of  them.  Come, 
be  sensible.  Go  home,  and  don't  wait  here  in  the  hope 
of  seeing  Ulrich." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  879 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"I  can't.  I  must  see  him.  You  say  he  is  angry. 
I  am  so  miserable  I  do  not  believe  I  care  if  he  strikes 
me.  I  must  see  him.  I  think  I  shall  go  mad  unless  I 
hear  his  voice.  I'll  do  anything  he  asks  of  me  in  ex- 
tenuation. I'll  humiliate  myself.  I  will  Seg  him  to  for- 
give me  on  my  knees.     Yes,  I  will  kneel  to  him." 

The  Princess  looked  at  the  girl  curiously.  A  little 
disdainful  smile  hovered  about  her  lips. 

"You  seem  to  have  gone  stark  mad,"  she  exclaimed 
scornfully.  "Ask  his  forgiveness  on  your  knees! 
Pshaw !  You'd  have  to  lick  his  boots  ever  after.  Don't 
be  a  goose,  Alice.  Go  home!  Take  a  sedative,  or  a 
hypodermic,  and  wait  till  he  asks  to  see  you.  Then  con- 
trive to  be  ill  with  a  raging  headache,  and  make  him 
wait  another  twelve  hours.  That's  what  you'll  do  if 
you  have  an  ounce  of  common  sense  left." 

"Well,  I  haven't,"  Alice  retorted.  "Please  let  me  see 
him." 

The  Princess  laughed  mockingly. 

"Yon  do  not  imagine  he  will  refuse  to  see  me,  do 
you?"  asked  Alice. 

"I'm  afraid  he  will  see  you,"  said  the  Princess  gravely. 
"He'll  anticipate  entirely  too  much  pleasure  from  the 
torment  he  will  put  you  through  to  send  you  away  with- 
out seeing  you." 

Johann  evidently  was  of  a  different  opinion.  He 
seemed  to  suspect  that  his  Highness  would  refuse  to  see 
any  visitor  whatsoever,  for  he  refused  to  announce  the 
Countess,  saying  diplomatically,  with  all  the  suavity  of 
the  well-bred  European  servant,  that  as  it  was  the  Coun- 
tess's custom  to  enter  unannounced,  he  saw  no  necessity 
for  announcing  her  to-day,  unless  she  particularly  de- 
sired it. 


S30  THE    GREATER    JOY 

The  Countess  did  not  particularly  desire  it,  so  she  en- 
tered the  laboratory  very  quietly  unannounced. 

Ulrich  was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair  with  his  back  to 
the  door.  She  walked  rapidly  across  the  long,  light, 
white  room,  gliding  silently  over  the  parquetry  flooring. 
But  Ulrich  recognized  her  step.     He  sprang  to  his  feet. 

They  faced  each  other  across  the  high  back  of  the  big 
chair. 

"Ulrich !"  she  exclaimed. 

He  bowed. 

"Countess  Gortza,  what  gives  me  the  pleasure  of  your 
visit?" 

It  was  cruel  to  thrust  her  thus  into  an  alien  zone,  but 
in  spite  of  her  misery  a  thrill  of  pleasure  tingled  through 
every  nerve.  This  was  the  same  inflexible  self-posses- 
sion, the  same  suave,  languorous  grace  and  charm  that 
he  had  brought  to  bear  upon  her  in  the  pre-nuptial 
days,  and  which,  to  this  hour,  when  he  chose  to  enshroud 
himself  in  it,  never  failed  to  fascinate  her. 

"Ulrich!"  she  stammered  again. 

"Countess,  tale  this  chair.  I  will  get  another  for 
myself." 

He  waited  for  her  to  be  seated,  as  if  they  were 
strangers. 

A  wild  notion  seized  her  to  throw  herself  at  his  feet 
then  and  there  and  implore  his  forgiveness.  But  dis- 
cretion prevailed.  She  feared  him  in  this  caustic  mood 
more  than  she  would  have  dreaded  any  outbreak  of 
anger.  He  would  probably  riddle  her  with  sarcasm  if 
she  were  to  kneel  to  him  now.  No,  decidedly,  she 
must  do  nothing  so  crude  at  the  moment. 

She  sat  down  limply  in  the  chair  which  he  had  placed 
for  her. 

"I  have  come,  Ulrich,  to  ask  your  forgiveness." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  381 

A  graceful  gesture  of  his  slim,  dark,  aristocratic  hand 
invited  her  to  proceed.  Sylvia  was  right,  she  reflected. 
He  would  not  spare  her  one  jot  of  any  possible  torment 
he  could  put  her  through.  And  how  refined,  how  deli- 
cately refined  was  that  torment! 

"I  did  not  realize  last  night  when  I  spoke  the  truth 
about  myself  that  it  made  things  rather  awkward  for 
you,  as  you  had  defended  me.  All  I  felt  at  the  moment 
was  that  I  must  speak  the  truth/' 

"Then  why  agitate  yourself  about  the  matter  subse- 
quently, Countess?" 

This  studied  reiteration  of  her  title  was  diabolical. 
She  became  so  nervous  that  she  could  barely  enunciate. 

"I  am  afraid  I  have  offended  you  very  deeply,"  she 
said  humbly. 

A  deprecatory  gesture  of  the  eloquent  hand,  and  then 
the  words: 

"I  do  not  deny,  Countess,  that  it  was  unpleasant  to  be 
stigmatized  as  a  liar.  But  chivalry  dictates  that  an  of- 
fence which  would  be  unpardonable  if  committed  by 
man,  must  be  condoned  in  a  woman,  particularly  if  she 
commits  the  offence  in  trying  to  save  from  fancied  death 
the  man  she  loves — perhaps  her  lover." 

"Ulrich !" 

She  jumped  to  her  feet,  in  anger.  Her  face  turned 
pale.  She  seemed  suddenly  transformed.  He  had  not 
thought  that  she  could  become  so  angry. 

"Ulrich,"  she  exclaimed  indignantly,  "how  dare  you 
say  such  a  thing?  You  know  it  is  not  true.  It's  abom- 
inable of  you!     It's  infamous!" 

"Infamous  is  a  pretty  strong  word,"  he  said  coldly. 

"You  know  as  well  as  I,  that  I  do  not  care  a  fig 
about  von  Garde  or  any  other  man.  I  love  you — you 
only." 


382  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"That,  of  course,  is  very  flattering,"  he  replied  coolly. 

From  his  careless  manner  she  might  have  been  a 
woman  to  whom  he  had  addressed  the  merest  compli- 
ment some  time  in  the  past.  A  little  hard  lump  gath- 
ered in  her  throat.     She  swallowed  it. 

"You've  got  to  take  that  back,  Ulrich,"  she  said,  try- 
ing to  control  herself.  "It's  a  gross  insult.  I  won't 
take  it,  not  even  from  you,  least  of  all  from  you." 

He  arose  and  made  her  a  ridiculously  profound  bow. 

"I  humbly  apologize,"  he  said,  and  with  a  smile  re- 
seated himself. 

"Ulrich,  Ulrich,"  she  cried,  "don't  treat  me  this  way !" 

"I  am  sorry  you  find  my  manner  offensive,  Countess. 
If  you  will  point  out  in  what  way  I  am  making  myself 
objectionable,  I  will  mend  my  fault." 

It  was  a  splendid  bit  of  acting,  but  his  nerves  were 
beginning  to  give  under  the  strain  and  he  knew  it. 

"You  are  very  heartless,  Ulrich !" 

She  walked  through  the  room,  and  then  came  back  to 
him.  As  she  approached  him,  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  with 
a  gesture  that  was  almost  defensive.  When  her  eyes  met 
his  she  saw  anxiety  in  them,  and  at  once  she  realized  her 
own  power  over  him. 

She  knew  that  all  she  need  do  was  to  throw  herself 
about  his  neck,  to  press  her  lips  upon  his  mouth,  to  touch 
his  brow  with  her  fingers,  and  he  would  be  sobbing  and 
moaning  in  her  arms  a  moment  later.  A  little  inner  voice 
seemed  to  coax  her,  to  goad  her  on :  "Down  with  your 
reserve,  your  modesty.  If  you  wish  to  hold  him,  play 
the  courtesan  for  once.  Subjugate  him.  Let  him  feel 
the  warmth  of  your  lips,  the  throbbing  of  your  blood, 
the  fragrance  of  your  skin,  the  magic  of  your  hair !"  But 
the  woman  in  her  rebelled.  If  she  could  not  overcome 
his  anger  as  one  human  being  speaking  to  another,  she 


THE    GREATER    JOY  383 

would  not  pollute  the  feeling  that  had  bound  them  to- 
gether. 

With  a  little  gesture  of  disdain,  of  contempt  almost, 
she  walked  away  from  him.  When  she  turned  and  looked 
at  him,  he  stood  with  his  watch  in  his  hand. 

"I  am  sure,  Countess/'  he  said  more  gently,  without 
looking  at  her,  "that  you  will  pardon  me  for  asking  your 
permission  to  discontinue  this  very  interesting  conversa- 
tion.    I  am  due  at  the  Clinic  in  half  an  hour." 

She  did  not  reply,  but  stood  looking  at  him  fixedly. 
Fear  came  back  in  his  eyes.  It  occurred  to  her  that  to 
punish  him  she  might  caress  him,  and  having  demon- 
strated her  power,  seeing  him  inert  and  helpless,  she 
might  fling  back  his  passion  to  him  as  not  worth  having. 
But  she  restrained  herself.  She  would  not  lower  herself. 
Still  she  did  not  reply.  He  pretended  that  she  had 
spoken. 

"Thank  you  so  much,  Countess,"  he  said,  and  walked 
to  the  door. 

The  fear  of  losing  him  sent  the  blood  rushing  to  her 
heart.    She  felt  dizzy  and  ill. 

"Ulrich,  don't  go,  don't  go " 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  door-knob. 

Her  dizziness  increased. 

Perhaps  she  stumbled  over  a  loose  rug ;  perhaps  it  was 
nervousness ;  perhaps  weakness,  for  she  had  not  touched 
food  that  day;  perhaps,  also,  it  was  the  strange  desir^ 
she  had  experienced  all  morning  to  kneel  to  him.  At  any 
rate,  she  stumbled  forward,  and  fell  at  his  feet. 

"Ulrich,  don't  go,  don't,  don't!  If  you  break  with 
me  like  this  it  will  kill  me.  After  all,  what  have  I  done  ? 
I  have  given  my  honor,  my  career,  everything  for  you. 
You  yourself  would  have  hated  me  if  I  had  not  spoken 
the  truth.     Ulrich " 


384  THE    GREATER    JOY 

His  hand  was  turning  the  door-knob;  he  ignored  her 
completely.     She  became  desperate. 

"Ulrich,  what  can  I  say  to  soften  you?  Look  at  me. 
My  reputation  is  in  tatters,  and  after  all — owing  to  you. 
Can  you  not  forgive  me  for  what  I  have  done  ?" 

He  opened  the  door. 

A  cry  of  distress  came  from  her  lips,  like  the  cry  of  a 
hunted  creature  of  the  woods  making  its  last  stand.  She 
pitched  forward  face  down.  She  heard  the  door  close 
and  believed  he  had  gone. 

When  he  lifted  her  from  the  floor  she  lay  in  his  arms 
in  a  dead  faint.  Ten  minutes  elapsed  before  he  was  able 
to  revive  her. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

Von  Garde  had,  of  course,  requested  that  his  immedi- 
ate resignation  be  accepted.  A  week  later  he  had  him- 
self transferred  to  a  different  regiment.  Neither  Ulrich 
nor  Alice  saw  him  before  he  left.  He  called  on  Sylvia, 
and  as  she  happened  to  be  out,  he  left  his  card  with 
"p.  p.  c."  scribbled  in  the  corner.  He  made  no  further 
effort  to  see  her. 

Once  more  Ulrich  and  Alice  were  lovers.  If  his  ca- 
pacity for  refined  cruelty  was  great,  his  capacity  for  ten- 
derness was  practically  unlimited,  and  he  made  her  ample 
amends  for  the  heart-breaking  torture  to  which  he  had 
put  her. 

He  sent  Egon  daily  to  see  her.  The  carriage  with  the 
beautiful  jet-black  horses  and  the  lackeys  in  the  royal 
liveries — the  yellow  plush  liveries  which  she  so  much 
admired — waited  for  hours  outside  her  door,  and  the 
child  King  sat  within  his  toy-room,  and  played  at  her 
feet,  while  she  embroidered  or  read,  or  entertained  some 
friend.  Ulrich  wished  to  proclaim  to  the  entire  little 
world  at  Hohen  that  the  one  pure  affection  of  his  life, 
his  love  for  little  Egon,  was  shared  by  his  mistress. 

One  morning  he  brought  Egon  to  Alice's  apartment 
for  breakfast.  She  saw  immediately  that  something  was 
wrong,  as  the  two  entered. 

"Countess  Gortza,"  said  Ulrich,  standing  behind  Egon, 
and  giving  Alice  a  significant  wink,  "I  am  afraid  I  am  go- 
ing to  inconvenience  you.  When  I  asked  your  permission 
last  week  to  bring  my  little  cousin  this  morning,  I  thought 

385 


386  THE    GREATER    JOY 

we  would  have  a  pleasant,  informal,  cosy  little  break- 
fast. But  it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you  that  his  Majesty,  the 
King,  desires  to  be  treated  with  due  ceremony." 

Tears  came  to  Egon's  eyes.  He  stamped  his  foot  in 
impotent  rage. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  talk  to  me  like  that,  Cousin  Ul- 
rich," he  cried. 

"Did  I  misinterpret  your  Majesty's  instructions?" 
asked  Ulrich  innocently. 

Poor  little  Egon  began  bawling  ingloriously.  The 
royal  fists  were  rubbed  quite  vulgarly  into  the  royal 
eyes  to  wipe  away  the  inundation  of  tears.  He  looked 
very  ridiculous.  Running  across  the  room,  he  threw 
himself,  sobbing,  upon  a  couch. 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  to  rebuke  your  Majesty,"  said 
Ulrich,  with  another  wink  at  Alice,  "but  it  is  considered 
very  bad  form  for  a  gentleman,  though  he  is  a  crowned 
head,  to  lie  down  in  the  presence  of  a  lady." 

"I  don't  care  if  it  is,"  blubbered  Egon,  his  nose  very 
red,  and  his  round  little  face  drenched  with  tears. 

"You  see,  Countess,"  continued  Ulrich,  "the  King 
this  morning  threw  his  hairbrush  at  his  valet,  because 
the  man  did  not  address  him  to  his  liking.  Later,  his 
Majesty  explained  to  me  that  it  was  time  to  impress 
everyone  with  the  fact  that  he  is  King.     I  am  doing  so.'' 

Egon  attempted  to  protest.  But  he  was  crying  quite 
too  vigorously  to  enunciate  any  intelligible  words.  A 
confused  jumble  of  disjointed  syllables  came  from  his 
mouth.     Alice  signified  to  Ulrich  to  withdraw. 

Left  alone  with  the  little  boy,  she  took  him  on  her 
lap,  and  soothed  him. 

"Don't  you  think,  dear,  that  Cousin  Ulrich  knows 
best  how  you  are  to  be  addressed?"  she  said.  "I  think 
you  can  safely  trust  him." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  387 

"Do  you  trust  him?" 

"Implicitly." 

Egon  considered  this.  "Of  course  I  trust  him,"  he 
said. 

"Then  I  should  think  you  would  try  to  obey  him." 

"But  I  am  the  King." 

"Yes,  dear,  you  are  the  King.  But  if  you  were  al- 
ways to  be  treated  as  a  king,  you  would  not  like  it 
at  all." 

"Yes,  I  should." 

"You  didn't  like  it  just  now  when  Cousin  Ulrich 
treated  you  ceremoniously.  And  if  I  were  to  treat  you 
like  a  king,  I  couldn't  possibly  take  you  on  my  lap,  and 
kiss  you,  and  hug  you,  and  call  you  my  own,  dear  little 
lad." 

He  pondered  over  that  a  little  while.    Then  he  said: 

"Please  don't  you  ever  treat  me  differently.  But  I 
don't  see  why  I  should  have  to  obey  everyone,  even 
Cousin  Ulrich." 

"Because  we  all  must  learn  to  obey  before  we  can 
command.  Because  you  are  only  a  little  boy.  If  your 
grandfather  were  still  living,  your  rank  would  be  ex- 
actly the  same  as  your  cousin's.  And  then,  Egon,  yon 
must  remember  that  Cousin  Ulrich  is  a  great  man,  and 
would  be  even  if  he  were  not  of  royal  rank.  It  is  doubt- 
ful, dear,  whether  you  will  ever  be  as  competent  as 
Cousin  Ulrich.  Furthermore,  when  we  trust  people, 
the  way  you  and  I  trust  Cousin  Ulrich,  we  must  some- 
times do  blindly  what  they  wish,  knowing  that  they 
know  better  than  we  ourselves  what  is  good  for  us." 

The  little  boy  turned  on  Alice's  lap,  and  regarded  her 
contemplatively. 

"Dear  Miss  Schatzie,"  he  said,  in  the  winning  von 
Dette  way,  "tell  me,  did  you  ever  do  anything  Cousin 


388?  THE    GREATER    JOY 

Ulrich  wanted  you  to  do  blindly,  without  questioning, 
just  because  you  trusted  him?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"And  you've  never  been  sorry." 

"Never." 

The  lad  got  to  his  feet. 

"I  guess,"  he  said,  "I  will  go  and  apologize  to  Cousin 
Ulrich." 

Within  ten  minutes  Egon  was  rioting  in  buckwheat 
cakes  and  hot  muffins,  luxuries  he  was  not  allowed  at 
home.  He  had  forgotten  his  woes.  He  had  had  two 
muffins,  and  asked  Ulrich  whether  he  might  have  a 
third. 

"Ask  the  Countess.  She  knows  what  is  good  for  little 
boys  better  than  I.     She  is  a  trained  nurse." 

Alice  helped  him  to  a  muffin,  and  Egon  said  sagely : 

"Oh,  yes,  that  is  why  grandfather  gave  her  a  title,  isn't 
it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ulrich  briefly. 

"If  grandfather  hadn't,  could  I  have  given  her  a  title 
during  my  minority  ?" 

"No,"  said  Ulrich.  "But  you  could  have  asked  me,  as 
Prince  Regent,  to  give  it  to  her,  and  I  would  have  done 
it." 

"I  guess  I  wouldn't  have  had  to  ask  you,"  commented 
Egon  coolly.  "I  think  you  are  just  as  fond  of  her  as  I 
am." 

Alice  flushed  painfully.  She  exchanged  a  swift  glance 
with  Ulrich.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  A  moment 
later  Egon  said : 

"Oh,  it  is  just  lovely  to  have  breakfast  like  this,  sitting 
between  you,  dear  Countess  Gortza,  and  Cousin  Ulrich. 
It  makes  me  feel  as  if  I  had  really  and  truly  a  father  and 
mother." 


THE   GREATER   JOY  389 

He  jumped  from  his  chair,  and  ran  toward  Alice  to  be 
kissed.  She  wiped  his  mouth,  sticky  with  honey.  Above 
the  child's  shoulder  her  eyes  and  Ulrich's  met.  Her  lips 
trembled.     The  same  thought  came  to  them  both. 

Prior  to  the  ball  which  had  ended  so  disastrously  for 
her,  Alice  had  issued  invitations  for  a  reception  to  be  held 
in  one  of  the  ball-rooms  of  her  hotel  about  a  fortnight 
later. 

Ulrich  wondered  whether  she  would  have  the  courage 
to  stand  up  and  receive  the  two  hundred  odd  persons  she 
had  invited,  and  bear  the  brunt  of  their  malice  or  com- 
passion, or  whether  she  would  feign  an  indisposition,  and 
have  the  invitations  recalled  at  the  last  moment.  As  she 
consulted  him  about  good  form  in  floral  decorations  at 
such  affairs,  he  discreetly  abstained  from  asking  ques- 
tions. 

It  was  well  past  ten  o'clock  when  he  entered  the  hall 
where  Alice,  with  Sylvia  near  her,  was  receiving. 

There  was  a  mob  of  people  about  them,  and  he  did  not 
approach  her  at  once,  but  stood  watching  her.  Again 
she  gave  him  the  sensation  of  being  a  stranger,  a  woman 
whom  he  had  barely  spoken  to.  What  was  the  secret  of 
her  charm  and  of  her  power? 

Certainly  her  manner  was  perfect.  A  woman  born 
and  bred  in  this  sophisticated  society  could  not  have  been 
more  at  her  ease.  There  was  a  touch  of  deference  in  her 
manner,  as  she  spoke  to  the  elder  women,  that  was  ad- 
mirable, and  in  addressing  the  elderly  men  she  employed 
a  manner  of  hesitating  coquetry. 

The  younger  men — they  were  swarming  about  her — 
she  treated  distantly,  aloofly. 

Ulrich  made  his  way  through  the  crush  of  people, 
bowed  over  her  hand,  kissed  it,  spoke  a  few  perfunctory 
words  and  passed  on.     But  he  remained  near  her.     Her 


390  THE    GREATER    JOY 

*  ■— —         i, 

society  manner  fascinated  him.  It  was  so  like  and  so 
unlike  her.  Like  her,  in  that  she  retained  her  spon- 
taneity and  charm ;  unlike  her,  in  that  her  manner,  with- 
out conveying  coldness,  lacked  every  vestige  of  cor- 
diality.   He  saw  and  marvelled. 

Some  officers  grouped  themselves  about  him,  but  his 
silence  prohibited  loquacity  on  their  part,  and  one  by  one 
they  fell  away. 

A  Fraeulein  von  Achtlingen  sidled  up  to  Alice.  She 
had  just  arrived.  She  was  a  withered,  faded  woman  of 
forty-five  or  older,  unnaturally  lean  and  tall,  her  skin 
wrinkled  and  cracked  like  dry  earth.  She  limped  and 
was  cross-eyed.  All  in  all,  a  repulsive-looking  creature, 
and  her  physical  infirmities,  which  ordinarily  would  have 
earned  her  a  charitable  compassion,  had  failed  to  soften 
anyone  toward  her,  for  her  malice  was  as  great  as  her 
unattractiveness. 

Alice  greeted  her,  and  von  Achtlingen  lisped  in  a  voice 
loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  a  number  of  persons  who 
stood  near : 

"Dear  Countess,  I  was  grieved  for  you  the  other  even- 
ing. Such  a  misfortune!  To  have  your  name  linked 
with  the  Prince  Regent's!" 

"Would  it  have  been  such  a  misfortune  for  you?"  re- 
torted Alice. 

The  men  who  stood  near,  laughed.  Ulrich  with  diffi- 
culty repressed  a  smile.  Her  self-possession  was  superb. 
He  moved  away,  sat  down  at  a  distance  from  her  in  an 
alcove  where  he  was  partially  screened  from  view,  but 
where  he  could  see  her. 

He  remembered  that  he  had  once,  long  ago,  in  thinking 
of  her  and  of  the  ever  newness  of  her  personality,  com- 
pared her  to  Shakespeare's  Cleopatra,  "Age  cannot  stale 
or  custom  wither  her."    He  had  then  thought  her  de- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  891 

ficient  in  magnificence  and  splendor.  How  she  had  de- 
veloped since  then! 

Surely  no  woman  could  be  more  magnificent  than  she 
was  to-ni<?ht.  She  seemed  to  be  invested  with  a  veritable 
halo  of  splendor.  Her  gown,  too,  was  more  decollete 
than  ever  before.     But  this  was  not  displeasing  to  him. 

He  remembered  that  the  first  time  he  had  seen  her  she 
had  appeared  to  him  to  be  dipped  in  snow.  Now  her 
cheeks  were  tinged  with  a  delicious,  shell  pink.  He  had 
thought  that  first  day,  that  her  beauty  was  almost  too 
fragile  to  wear  well.  He  had  believed  that  in  a  few  years 
she  would  droop  and  fade  and  become  insignificant.  He 
had  not  believed  that  in  her  veins  bounded  sufficient  pas- 
sion to  preserve  her  beauty. 

How  mistaken  he  had  been !  She  was  more  beautiful 
to-night  than  he  had  ever  seen  her.  Five  years  hence  she 
would  be  more  exquisite  still,  more  seductive,  more  regal, 
more  alluring.  Alluring!  His  blood  became  acceler- 
ated. Exhilaration  swept  over  him.  There  was  no 
doubt  of  it.  Five  years  hence,  perhaps  six  or  seven  years 
hence,  she  would  be  at  her  best,  her  magnificence  would 
become  proverbial.  And  yet  she  was  perfect  now.  How 
could  perfection  be  bettered?  He  did  not  know.  He 
only  knew  that  she  had  developed  along  entirely  different 
lines  than  he  had  anticipated,  that  she  would  expand 
more  and  more. 

He  became  vaguely  uneasy.  She  had  told  him  that  he 
eclipsed  all  other  men  for  her.  Doubtless  she  believed 
that  to  be  true.  Perhaps  it  was  true,  at  present.  But 
would  it  be  true  always  ?  Would  she  remain  indifferent 
to  all  other  men  perpetually  ? 

What  troubled  him  was  how  the  situation  veered  and 
shifted  from  under  his  feet.  He  was  certain  of  her  hon- 
esty and  of  her  love,  but  he  was  by  no  means  certain  of 


392  THE    GREATER    JOY 

her.  Would  there  not  come  a  time  when  another  would 
replace  him? 

He  watched  her  narrowly.  She  seemed  not  only  com- 
pletely at  ease,  she  seemed  to  be  deriving  a  certain  enjoy- 
ment from  being  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes,  the  centre  of 
gravity  about  which  everybody,  especially  the  men,  re- 
volved. 

A  number  of  artists,  whom  he  himself  had  introduced 
to  her  upon  some  informal  occasion,  seemed  to  have 
formed  a  permanent  coterie  about  her.  Other  men  and 
women  moved  on,  but  this  handful  of  artists  remained 
her  stable  satellites.  And  they  were  the  wittiest,  and 
most  clever  and  attractive  men  in  the  room. 

He  forced  himself  to  go  and  speak  to  her.  The  others 
moved  away.  No  more  guests  were  expected,  and  she 
and  he  sat  down  together.  The  satellites  moved  on  a 
few  steps,  halted  and  waited. 

"Vampires,"  thought  Ulrich.  "Jackals!  Waiting  for 
me  to  leave  her.     Let  them  wait." 

"You  seem  very  taciturn  to-night,  Ulrich,"  she  said. 
"Anything  wrong  ?" 

One  of  the  satellites,  Bouchere,  a  painter  of  whom 
great  things  were  expected,  overheard  her  call  Ulrich  by 
his  Christian  name.  The  young  fellow  changed  color,  a 
strange  light  kindled  in  his  eyes.  His  lips  were  agitated 
as  if  with  envy.     Ulrich  pitied  him. 

"A  little  preoccupied,  that  is  all,"  he  replied  distantly. 

"With  plague  specimens?"  she  teased. 

"Not  with  plague,  but  with  plaguey  specimens,"  he 
said.     She  laughed. 

"Man  or  woman?" 

"Man,  of  course.  Our  own  sex  is  always  the  most  in- 
teresting to  us,  is  it  not?"  he  retorted  with  withering 
sarcasm. 


THE    G  HE  AT  EH    JOY  3M 

She  laughed  derisively. 

"Only  when  we  pay  someone  the  compliment  of  being 
jealous  of  him,  or  her." 

Her  laugh  troubled  him.  There  was  in  it  something 
of  triumph  and  of  exultation.  She  seemed  like  a  woman 
who  for  the  first  time  has  tasted  of  the  delight  of  know- 
ing that  she  had  power  over  men. 

"May  I  get  you  something  to  drink — or  a  sherbet?"  he 
asked. 

"Thank  you,  no.  But  you  may  get  yourself  some- 
thing, and  come  back  here  and  eat  it." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  looked  down  at  her. 
His  figure,  he  was  standing  before  her,  shielded  her  face 
from  the  room.  An  instantaneous  change  came  over  her 
face.  The  strangeness  dropped  from  her.  She  was  the 
woman  he  loved,  the  woman  with  whom  he  was  intimate, 
the  one  woman  in  the  world  for  him. 

Without  pronouncing  the  words,  her  lips  framed  the 
question : 

"Are  you  coming  to-night?" 

"Yes." 

He  bowed  and  walked  away.  He  felt  pacified,  at  ease, 
satisfied.  He  sought  out  a  number  of  women,  and  made 
himself  agreeable.  He  sparkled,  he  shone.  He  wished 
to  give  tone  and  brilliancy  to  her  first  large  affair,  and  to 
please  her,  he  exerted  himself  more  than  usual. 

Having  done  his  duty  as  a  quasi-host,  he  sought  an  op- 
portunity of  again  observing  her.  The  satellites  had  left 
her,  all  but  Bouchere,  and  he  and  she  were  conversing 
with  considerable  animation.  Bouchere  was  a  man  of 
about  twenty-eight.  His  features  were  classically  beau- 
tiful, his  hair  and  eyes  were  a  soft  brown  and  shot 
through  and  through  with  glints  of  gold.  His  ivory- 
white  hands  were  slim  and  graceful,  and  he  moved  them 


394  THE    GREATER    JOY 

incessantly,  either  from  a  desire  to  display  them  or  from 
nervousness.  He  had  a  boyish  air  which  endeared  him 
to  women.  Like  all  Frenchmen,  he  was  a  clever  talker, 
and  could  tell  a  risque  story  without  allowing  it  to  degen- 
erate into  indelicacy. 

Bouchere  was  considered  a  painter  of  great  promise. 
After  studying  in  Paris,  he  had  come  to  spend  a  winter 
in  the  Royal  Art  School  of  Hohen.  It  was  he  who  had 
written  the  following  impertinence  to  a  friend:  "Paris 
can  teach  me  no  more,  nor  can  Spain.  From  the  Barbi- 
zon  School,  from  Sarolla  y  Bastida,  and  all  the  rest,  I 
have  gleaned  all  I  can  ever  glean  of  technical  perfection 
in  impressionism.  Now  I  am  going  to  Germany,  for 
Germany,  so  sublimely  preeminent  in  music,  so  dominant 
in  science,  so  respectably  mediocre  in  letters,  has  pro- 
duced only  the  most  commonplace  and  incomparably  un- 
original painters  in  modern  times,  and  I  anticipate  that 
I  shall  learn  as  much  from  studying  the  mistakes  of  the 
blundering,  uninspired  Teutons  as  from  gloating  over  the 
masterpieces  of  the  transcendent  Frenchmen  and  the  tem- 
peramental Spaniards." 

Bouchere  was  speaking  and  Alice  was  listening.  She 
smiled.  Her  teeth  shone  like  the  moist  petals  of  the 
water-lily.  Once  she  closed  her  eyes,  and  when  she 
opened  them  again,  she  shook  her  head  lightly  at  Bou- 
chere with  an  air  of  innocent  familiarity,  as  if  rebuking 
him.  Ulrich  had  never  seen  her  employ  the  gesture  to 
anyone  excepting  himself,  and  she  used  it  only  when  re- 
straining his  too  vehement  ardor. 

What  story,  in  heaven's  name,  was  Bouchere  telling 
her  ?  And  such  stories  as  Bouchere  was  capable  of !  He 
remembered  one  in  particular.  .  .  He  felt  an  almost  un- 
controllable desire  to  walk  up  to  them  and  snatch  Alice 


THE    GREATER    JOY  395 

away  from  the  passionate  eyes  of  the  artist,  and  cry  out, 
'This  woman  belongs  to  me,  to  me." 

All  the  brutality  of  the  predatory  male  was  aroused  in 
him.  He  was  in  torment.  In  imagination  he  painted  the 
future.  Would  he  be  able  to  hold  her?  Would  he  lose 
her?  Until  recently  he  had  believed  that  the  misery  of 
miseries  for  a  man  was  to  be  unable  to  win  and  possess 
the  woman  whom  he  loved.  But  now  it  appeared  there 
was  a  greater  infelicity, — to  lose  a  woman  one  has  pos- 
sessed and  whom  one  continues  to  adore. 

The  fame  of  her  beauty  would  spread.  She  was  one 
of  those  rare  women  whose  beauty  alone  is  bound  to 
make  them  famous, — or  infamous.  There  were  at  least 
half  a  dozen  men  in  Europe,  whom  he  knew,  who,  once 
the  rumor  of  her  beauty  began  to  spread,  would  make  it 
their  business  to  see  her,  to  be  introduced  to  her,  to  look 
her  over  leisurely,  as  a  man  looks  over  a  valuable  paint- 
ing or  house  which  he  contemplates  acquiring.  He  him- 
self had  regarded  her  in  that  light  at  first.  And  each  of 
these  men  was  wealthy.  A  few  of  them  were  multi- 
millionaires, and  their  millions  were  backed  with  titles 
quite  as  old,  even  if  less  dazzling  than  his  own.  He  could 
make  her  comfortable,  keep  her  in  luxury  in  a  small  way, 
but  he  could  not  afford  to  spend  more  than  two  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  marks  annually  on  her  establishment, 
— perhaps,  if  some  speculations  turned  out  well,  half  a 
million  of  marks.  And  some  of  those  hypothetical  men 
were  able  to  spend  on  her  as  many  pounds  sterling  a 
year,  if  they  pleased. 

She  loved  jewelry.  He  remembered  the  necklace  and 
lavalliere  he  had  bought  her  in  Italy.  He  had  not  be- 
lieved that  she  would  accept  them,  knowing  her  scruples ; 
but  when  he  had  shown  them  to  her,  a  singular  flush  of 


396  THE    GREATER    JOY 

joy  had  come  into  her  face,  and  she  had  exclaimed,  "I 
ought  not  to,  but  I  cannot  refuse  these  pearls.  They 
are  so  beautiful." 

It  had  pleased  him  at  the  time,  but  now  the  recollection 
of  the  episode  tortured  him.  Other  men  would  be  able 
to  buy  her  so  much  more  than  he  could.  And  some  of 
them  were  attractive,  very. 

There  was  Archduke  Boris,  with  his  fortune  and  his 
personality,  his  luminous  vivacity  and  barbaric  splendor 
and  passion.  He  would  squander  a  fortune  upon  her  in 
bonbons  and  jewelry  in  the  vagrant  hope  of  winning  her. 

There  was  the  Count  von  Hellersberg,  of  Austria,  who 
had  eloped  with  the  Duchess  Dufriche,  who  had  died 
within  a  year,  a  suicide,  it  was  rumored,  because  she 
could  not  endure  being  cut  by  all  Europe.  He  was  as 
dashing  and  handsome  a  blackguard  as  ever  lived.  He 
was  fabulously  rich,  and  combined  the  elegance  of  the 
Parisian  with  the  facile  sentimentality  of  the  German, 
and  had  in  the  bargain  all  the  peculiar  chic  of  the  Aus- 
trian,— schneidig,  as  it  is  termed. 

There  was  Hernshawe,  who  would  some  day  be  the 
Duke  of  Luxbridge.     'fllere  were  half  a  dozen  others. 

He  tormented  himself  by  enumerating  them,  one  by 
one.  Finally,  worn  out,  sick  at  heart,  cursing  himself 
and  his  insane  jealousy,  he  bade  her  a  perfunctory  adieu, 
and  leaving  by  the  lobby  of  the  house,  walked  around  the 
corner  and  let  himself  in  at  the  side  door  with  a  latch 
key.  The  maid  asked  him  where  he  would  wait.  He 
requested  her  to  light  the  gas  in  the  library. 

But  it  was  impossible  to  read.  Assured  that  the  girl 
was  not  there,  he  went  to  Alice's  sleeping  room.  He 
went  through  all  the  unspeakable  torment  of  a  man  who 
has  actually  lost  the  woman  he  loves.  He  picked  up  her 
bedroom  slippers,  touched  her  night-gown,  smoothed  the 


THE    GREATER    JOY  397 

pillow  which  her  face  had  pressed,  pressed  her  hairbrush 
against  his  own  head. 

What  should  he  do  ?  Marry  her  ?  Then  he  would  be 
sure  of  her.  They  would  be  comparatively  poor.  Emi- 
nent though  he  was  as  a  physician,  it  would  take  him 
several  years  to  build  up  a  lucrative  practice.  In  com- 
bating poverty,  she  would  be  drawn  more  closely  to  him. 
They  would  have  children,  and  the  great  joy  of  becoming 
a  mother  and  of  looking  after  her  little  brood  would 
amply  compensate  her  for  the  altered  social  condition. 
Finery  and  clothes  would  become  a  negligible  quantity. 

But  in  spite  of  his  actual  suffering,  the  idea  of  mar- 
riage remained  repugnant  to  him.  He  hated  the  idea  of 
losing  his  rank.  His  subterfuge,  of  course,  was  what  he 
must  do  for  Egon,  and  for  the  kingdom.  But  he  knew 
very  well  that  Gunther,  young  as  he  was,  was  no  fool, 
and  that  if  forced  to  put  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel  of  the 
chariot  of  state,  he  would  probably  acquit  himself  very 
creditably.  And  so  he  was  in  reality  cheating  himself  in 
using  this  flimsy  pretext  to  cover  his  own  selfishness. 

He  had  overheard  some  man  re£er  to  her  that  evening 
as  "La  Gortza."  That,  too,  made  him  miserable.  La 
Pompadour,  La  Querouaille,  La  DuBarry,  La  Valliere. 
La  Gortza!  Yes,  her  beauty  would  make  her  famous — 
or  infamous. 

Until  now  he  had  always  held  the  whip  hand  with 
women;  with  Alice,  too,  much  as  he  loved  her,  he  had 
until  now  controlled  the  situation.  But  he  felt  that  it 
was  quite  possible  that  that  situation  might  become  re- 
versed. He  began  to  understand  how  a  man  can  ruin 
himself  for  a  woman,  ruin  himself  financially,  morally, 
mentally. 

She  came  in  at  last.  He  had  gone  back  to  the  library, 
and  her  pale  green  silk  evening  coat,  lined  with  swans- 


398  THE    GREATER    JOY 

down,  brushed  across  his  hand  as  she  stopped  and  kissed 
his  cheek. 

"I  have  kept  you  waiting  an  unconscionable  time — I 
thought  Bouchere  would  never  go." 

She  kissed  him  again,  more  fervently. 

She  sat  down  opposite  him,  and  took  his  hand  in 
hers. 

"Dearest,"  she  said  in  a  coaxing,  intimate  way.  Her 
cloak  fell  back,  revealing  the  dazzling  shoulders.  "Were 
you  satisfied  with  me?  Didn't  I  behave  beautifully? 
Please  praise  me,  Ulrich  darling,  I  tried  so  hard  to 
behave  just  as  I  thought  you  would  wish  me  too." 

"You  seemed  to  enjoy  doing  it  quite  uncommonly,"  he 
retorted,  none  too  graciously. 

She  laughed. 

"Ulrich,  dear,  do  you  know,  until  this  morning  I 
dreaded  this  affair  horribly.  I  thought  I  would  suffocate 
with  shame — you  understand.  Then  suddenly  to-night, 
as  I  stood  there,  a  different  mood  came  over  me  and  I 
felt  so  stupidly,  idiotically,  gloriously  happy  that  I  was 
rid  of  the  lie.  I  felt  that  I  didn't  care  a  fi^  about  any- 
body's opinion  of  me.  Ulrich,  I  love  you  a  thousand 
times  better  every  day." 

"Alice!" 

They  arose  of  one  accord,  and  their  lips  met.  He  was 
seized  with  a  violent  desire  to  hold  her  close  to  him. 

"Let  me  kiss  your  throat,"  he  demanded. 

"No,  no,  Ulrich." 

She  shrank  back.  It  seemed  to  her  indelicate,  indeco- 
rous, even,  that  he  should  wish  to  kiss  her  so  intimately 
while  she  still  wore  the  gown  in  which  she  had  been  seen 
and  inspected  by  hundreds  of  all  eyes  all  evening.  She 
desired  to  first  change  her  ball  gown  for  a  negligee,  for 


THE    GREATER    JOY  899 

some  dressing-  gown,  in  which  he  alone  among  men,  was 
permitted  to  see  her. 

He  implored  and  entreated. 

"Dearest,  don't  refuse  me,  I  am  mad  for  you,  mad, 
quite  mad." 

She  resisted  another  moment,  then,  seeing  the  anguish 
in  his  eyes,  yielded  him  her  neck.  She  had  been  so  full 
of  her  little  triumph,  she  was  so  elated  at  having  finally 
overcome  her  sense  of  shame,  she  had  wanted  so  much  to 
hear  a  word  of  praise  from  him. 

His  lips  were  becoming  bolder.  She  felt  the  pressure 
of  his  sharp  teeth  against  her  tender  skin.  She  became 
frightened. 

"No,  please,  dearest;  don't,  don't." 

"I  had  better  go,"  he  said.  "I  am  not  fit  to  remain 
with  you  to-night." 

"No,  you  are  not  going.  Not  in  this  mood.  What  is 
the  matter?" 

"Nothing,  let  me  go." 

She  barred  the  way. 

That  sobered  him.  He  sat  down  before  the  gas  log 
fire.  She  left  the  room.  When  she  returned  a  few 
moments  later,  she  was  in  a  dressing  gown. 

"It  is  three  o'clock,"  she  said  in  a  casual  voice.  "Do 
you  want  something  to  eat?" 

He  did  not  answer,  and  she  rumpled  her  fingers 
through  his  hair. 

"Ulrich,  will  you  have  some  sandwiches  to  eat?" 

"Sandwiches !" 

"Are  the  cannibalistic  tendencies  still  uppermost?" 

He  forced  a  laugh.  She  turned  him  about,  and  sat 
down  on  his  knee. 

"You  dear,  stupid  thing,"  she  said.  "What  is  the 
matter  with  you?"  she  began  kissing  him,  using  every 


400  THE    GREATER    JOY 

caress  that  she  knew  he  loved.  But  her  kisses  were  an 
added  torment.  Was  she  kissing  him  as  her  lips  touched 
his  face,  his  eyes,  his  mouth,  or  was  she  kissing  some 
other  man? 

He  pushed  her  away. 

"Don't,  Alice,  don't ;  let  me  alone." 

She  got  to  her  feet,  and  stood  before  him.  He  buried 
his  face  in  his  hands.     Suddenly  she  divined  the  truth. 

"Ulrich,"  she  said,  "you  are  jealous.  Now  poor  von 
Garde  is  gone,  will  you  kindly  tell  me  of  whom  you  are 
jealous?" 

He  did  not  reply. 

"Ulrich,  dear,  how  can  you  be  so  abysmally  silly?" 

He  lifted  his  face. 

"Alice,  we  had  better  get  married." 

"So  that  you  secure  a  legal  title  to  me?"  She  was 
furious.  "Thank  you."  She  walked  from  the  room  and 
he  saw  her  kick  a  sofa  pillow  viciously  that  had  fallen 
from  a  chair. 

"I  mean  it,  Alice,"  he  called  after  her. 

"Look  here,  Ulrich,"  she  stood  in  the  doorway,  "I  have 
no  desire  to  listen  to  nonsense  at  this  time  of  the  morn- 
ing. I  am  dead  tired.  I  had  a  fatiguing  evening,  and  I 
want  to  go  to  bed." 

"Alice,  I  am  serious.     I  want  you  to  marry  me." 

For  a  moment  she  held  her  breath,  and  stood  stock- 
still.  At  last  he  had  spoken  the  words  which  she  had 
longed  to  hear  so  earnestly;  he  had  spoken  them  pas- 
sionately, with  lover-like  insistence.  Surely  she  was  too 
fastidious  in  demanding  more  than  all  that  after  what 
had  passed  between  them.  But  she  knew  that  she  would 
despise  herself  if  she  accepted  his  offer  knowing  that 
jealousy  alone  had  prompted  it. 

"I  have  told  you  before,"  she  said  acidly,  "that  I  am 


THE    GREATER    JOY  401 

very  tired.  And  I  will  not  marry  you  because  you  want 
to  make  a  chattel  of  me.  And  if  you  have  an  uncon- 
querable desire  for  an  argument,  I  must  request  you  to 
ring  up  some  scientific  friend  and  argue  with  him." 

Her  manner  amazed  him.  He  assumed  an  imperious 
air,  but  it  did  not  awe  her  in  the  least,  as  he  had  intended 
it  should.  She  smiled.  She  looked  him  over  in  a 
worldly-wise,  superior  way  that  she  sometimes  used  to 
advantage  in  curbing  him.  He  became  frantic  with  mor- 
tification and  passion  and  jealousy. 

"I  insist  on  your  coming  back  and  listening  to  me,"  he 
cried,  stamping  his  foot.  Alice  laughed.  She  remem- 
bered the  scene  she  had  gone  through  with  Egon  a  few 
days  before. 

"You  shan't  laugh  at  me,"  he  rasped. 

"I  will  laugh  at  you,  and  I  won't  listen  to  you,"  and  she 
ran  away.  He  followed.  She  was  too  quick  for  him, 
and  she  reached  her  dressing  room,  closed  it  and  shot  the 
bolt  before  he  got  there.  Her  sleeping  room  adjoined 
the  dressing  room  on  the  other  side.  He  was  effectually 
shut  off  from  her  unless  she  unbolted  the  door. 

"Alice,  open  the  door,"  he  commanded. 

"Ulrich,  I  am  going  to  bed.  Good-night,  dear.  I 
hope  you  will  enjoy  your  discussion,  that  is,  if  anyone 
will  listen  to  you  at  this  hour." 

"Alice,  dear,  please  open  the  door." 

"Ah,  that's  a  little  better.  Now  listen  to  what  I  have 
to  say  to  you,  Ulrich.  It  is  the  first  time  I  have  barred 
you  from  my  room.  I  am  fearfully  tired,  and  with  all 
due  respect  for  you,  dear,  I  know  that  when  you  get  to 
arguing  a  point  you'll  keep  at  it  for  a  good  hour.  Now 
are  you  going  to  argue,  or  aren't  you?  I,  for  one,  am 
going  right  to  bed.  Ulrich,  dear,  I  blush  to  say  it,  but 
the  door  effectually  screens  my  blushes,  I  am  shockingly 


403  THE    GREATER    JOY 

in  love  with  you  to-night.  Ulrich,  dear,"  she  added 
in  a  coaxing,  wheedling  tone,  "aren't  you  a  wee  little  bit 
in  love  with  me  to-night?" 

"Good  God!"  he  burst  forth,  "unless  you  open  that 
door  I'll  break  it.  I  don't  care  how  much  noise  I  make. 
I  don't  care  if  I  arouse  the  entire  house.  I  don't  care  if 
the  police  forces  its  way  in  here  to  see  what's  wrong.  I'll 
get  a  fire-axe  and  I'll  smash  that  d — d  door." 

"Don't  be  profane,  dearie.  And  I  beg  to  remind  you, 
you'll  have  to  smash  another  door  after  you  get  through 
with  the  first  one." 

"Alice,  you're  a  devil !" 

"And  you'll  be  so  horribly  tired  after  smashing  two 
strong,  oak  doors.  I  believe  there  are  iron  rivets  in 
them,  too,  Ulrich." 

"Alice,  you  are  driving  me  crazy!  Open  that  door, 
let  me  in,  please,  dearest,  please." 

"Ulrich,  dear,  what  do  you  want  to  do, — to  convince 
me  that  I  must  marry  you,  or — to  love  me  ?" 

"Either,  neither,  both,  anything  you  wish,  nothing  you 
do  not  wish,  only  open  the  door." 

She  unbolted  the  door ;  it  swung  open. 

"You  poor  thing,"  she  said,  "and  you're  still  dressed." 

"You — you  devil !"  he  spluttered. 

Laughing,  she  ran  to  her  room,  and  crept  into  bed. 
When  he  entered  the  apartment  a  few  moments  later,  she 
pretended  to  be  asleep.     She  gurgled  softly,  as  if  snoring. 

He  knelt  down  on  the  bed,  and  kissed  her. 

"You  devil,"  he  said,  "you  beautiful,  beautiful  devil !" 

"Is  that  your  latest  name  for  your  little  Puritan?" 

"You're  both."  He  smothered  her  in  kisses.  "You're 
both.  God ! — you  have  bewitched  me !" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

They  resumed  their  quest  for  a  villa  the  end  of  March. 
Spring  came  early  that  year.  The  pussy  willows  with 
their  grey  velvet  hoods  sprinkled  with  gold  dust,  the 
crocus,  the  daffodils,  which  bloomed  in  every  narrow 
strip  of  garden  in  Hohe,  the  sweet,  young  tips  on  the 
pine  trees,  engendered  a  desire  in  Alice  for  a  house  with 
a  fair-sized  garden. 

Sylvia  had  pointed  out  a  substantial-looking,  old-fash- 
ioned mansion  with  a  Colonial  front,  one  day,  which  had 
been  vacant  for  some  time. 

"Baroness  von  Sylka  occupied  it  for  years,"  said  Sylvia. 
"It  is  a  very  handsomely  finished  house,  there  is  a  pretty 
little  walled-in  garden  back  of  the  house,  and  all  in  all,  I 
think  it  ought  to  suit  you." 

"I  hate  the  idea  of  a  big,  rambling  house/'  said  Alice. 
"But  Ulrich  insists.  He  won't  be  happy  unless  I  have  an 
establishment  big  enough  to  assemble  the  entire  Court  in 
if  needs  must  be." 

"For  once  Ulrich  is  right.  Giving  you  a  big  estab- 
lishment is  the  only  way  in  which  Ulrich  can  give  you  a 
position,  and  make  everybody  understand  that  you're  a 
factor  in  this  State.  Not  the  biggest  man  in  the  kingdom, 
not  that  odious  General  von  Ruegen  even,  but  will  kow- 
tow to  you  once  you're  mistress  of  a  big  mansion." 

"I  don't  think  General  von  Ruegen  so  odious  at  all," 
said  Alice.  She  remembered  his  kindness  on  the  evening 
of  the  von  Garde  affair. 

The  next  afternoon,  as  Alice  and  Ulrich  motored  off  on 
a  house-hunting  quest,  she  said : 

403 


404  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Ulrich,  there  is  a  house  in  the  Museenstrasse  which 
Sylvia  called  my  attention  to.  It  seems  to  be  very  nice. 
Unless  it's  too  dear." 

"Which  house?" 

"A  Baroness  von  Sylka,  I  believe,  occupied  it  for 
years." 

"What?"  Ulrich  flared  up.  "How  can  Sylvia  dare  sug- 
gest that  house  for  you.  Don't  you  know  that  Sylka 
woman  was  Uncle  Joachim's  mistress  for  years?  She 
didn't  have  a  vestige  of  self-respect  left." 

Alice  crimsoned. 

"That's  rather  a  brutal  thing  to  say  to  me,"  she  re- 
marked diffidently. 

"How  so  ?  You  cannot  misunderstand  me  ?  I  see  you 
do."  He  laughed.  "My  dear  child,"  he  said,  "in  spite  of 
all,  you  are  what  you  always  were,  a  little  Puritan." 

"I  confess,  I  don't  understand." 

"Uncle  Joachim  was  rotten,  my  dear,  rotten  to  the  core,, 
and  a  woman  who — oh,  hang  it!  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand, and  still  I  am  glad  you  do  not  understand." 

"Very  well,"  she  said  meekly.  But  her  thoughts  kept 
reverting  to  his  cryptic  remarks. 

"Let's  drop  the  subject,"  he  suggested.  "I  have  a  list 
of  houses  here,  but  I  do  not  think  any  of  them  will  do. 
Let's  run  up  to  Banker  Seligmann's  daughter's  place  once 
more — it's  almost  finished,  and  I  have  a  permit  so  we  can 
get  in  and  look  around." 

"Ulrich,  dear,  I  am  not  covetous  as  a  rule.  But  I  don't 
want  to  look  at  that  place  again.  It  turns  me  green  with 
envy.     It  is  so  gorgeously  lovely." 

Ulrich  laughed,  and,  in  spite  of  Alice's  protestations, 
had  the  chauffeur  run  the  automobile  up  to  the  beautiful 
mansion.  Its  location  was  ideal.  It  was  situated  on  a 
bluff  overlooking  the  river,  which  in  summer  swarmed 


THE    GREATER    JOY  405 

with  yachts,  launches,  canoes  and  similar  small  craft.  It 
was  built  of  grey  stone.  An  enormous  semicircular 
veranda,  colonnaded,  and  flanked  by  delightfully  easy 
stairs,  fronted  the  river.  A  bronze  railing  extended  from 
the  last  pillar  of  the  colonnade  to  the  enormous  conserva- 
tory, ran  around  it,  and  terminated  beyond  at  the  porte 
cochere.  There  were  twenty-four  sleeping  rooms  in  the 
house,  a  small  dining-room,  a  large  dining-room,  two 
kitchens,  and  library,  music-room,  a  small  drawing-room, 
a  reception  room,  and  two  small  ante-chambers.  The 
dining-rooms  were  wainscoted  in  oak  alternating  with 
mahogany,  both  woods  set  in  heavily  carved  black  walnut 
frames. 

"Come  away,  Ulrich.  It  is  too  magnificent.  I  don't 
want  to  see  the  bedrooms,"  said  Alice,  petulantly. 

"Don't  be  foolish,  dear."     He  led  the  way  upstairs  to  a 

small,  exquisitely  appointed  room  that  faced  the  East. 

The  walls  were  unpapered,  but  the  mantel,  of  sculptured 

-alabaster,  had  been  set.     The  woodwork  was  bird's-eye 

maple,  and  the  ceiling  was  frescoed. 

Alice  uttered  an  ejaculation  of  esthetic  joy. 

"So  you  like  the  house  ?" 

"It's  a  dream." 

"I  think  I  can  get  the  dream  for  you." 

"No,  no,  the  rental  would  be  preposterous. 

"I  think  I  can  get  it  at  a  comparatively  low  figure. 
Seligmann's  daughter,  for  whom  the  house  was  built  as  a 
wedding  gift,  will  have  to  go  to  South  America  with  her 
husband,  contrary  to  expectations.  That  leaves  the  house 
on  Seligmann's  hands,  and  I  think  he  will  let  me  have  it 
for  you." 

"It  will  cost  too  much.  Think  of  the  grounds!  It 
would  require  at  least  two  gardeners." 

"Six  gardeners,  my  love." 


406  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Then  it  is  out  of  the  question." 

"No,  it  is  not.     I  made  a  cool  little  sum  on  the  BoerseT 

"You  never  told  me." 

"I  wanted  to  surprise  you  with  this  house." 

Still  she  interposed  objections. 

He  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  led  her  to  the  window- 
seat.     They  sat  down  together,  as  if  for  a  long  talk. 

"Old  Seligmann  is  anxious,  oh,  so  anxious,  for  an 
order  or  a  title.  I  think  I  shall  confer  upon  him  the 
Order  of  the  Knights  of  Bouillon.  And  I  am  sure,  dear, 
when  I  ask  him  what  the  rental  is  to  be,  it  will  be  right." 

Alice  was  horrified. 

"In  America,"  she  said,  "we  would  call  that  graft." 

"You  forget,  my  love,"  laughed  Ulrich,  "I'etat,  c'est 
moi." 

But  she  would  not  take  his  view  of  it. 

"He's  not  really  entitled  to  the  Order,  is  he?"  she 
asked.  Suddenly  she  added,  "Any  more  than  I  am  to 
my  title." 

"Come,  dear,"  he  said,  "I  think  we  might  give  the  old 
man  the  Order,  just  to  please  him,  you  know." 

She  looked  about  the  beautiful  room  and  weakened. 

"It  wouldn't  injure  a  soul,"  he  said,  "his  being  a  Knight 
of  Bouillon." 

Alice  sighed. 

"At  home,"  she  said,  "I  believe  they  distinguish  be- 
tween dishonest  graft,  which  injures  someone,  and  honest 
graft,  by  which  no  one  loses.  What  you  propose  is 
honest  graft,  I  suppose." 

"Then,"  said  Ulrich,  "old  Seligmann  gets  the  Order?" 

She  said  abruptly: 

"Ulrich,  I  don't  want  you  to  think  me  foolish,  but  I 
would  rather  not  have  the  house,  if  you  have  to  pay  for 
it  in  that  way." 


THE    GREATER   JOY  407 

He  laughed. 

"New  England  conscience  at  work  again?  Very  well. 
Old  Seligmann  shall  not  get  his  Order." 

"Ulrich,  I  know  I  am  very  trying  to-day.  The 
truth  is,  dearest,  I  am  so  very  much  afraid  that  you  will 
get  yourself  into  financial  difficulties  if  you  take  this 
house.  Perhaps  you  do  not  know  what  it  means  to  be 
in  financial  distress.  I  do.  And  I  do  not  suppose  it 
matters  whether  it  is  five  marks  or  five  hundred  marks 
or  five  thousand  marks  that  one  cannot  pay — so  long 
as  one  cannot  pay.  It  would  kill  me,  dearest,  to  think 
that  you  should  ever  have  to  worry  yourself  about  debts 
through  my  fault.  You  see,  dearest,  what  makes  for 
happiness  is  not  wealth  or  beautiful  environments,  but 
contentment,  sweet  thoughts,  peace  of  mind,  and  love." 

She  had  spoken  hesitatingly,  the  color  coming  and 
going  on  her  face.  He  could  see  how  difficult  it  had  been 
for  her  to  get  through  with  her  little  peroration. 

"Dearest,"  he  said  tenderly.  "I  can  afford  it.  I  made 
not  merely  a  neat  little  sum,  as  I  told  you  before,  but 
quite  a  handsome  little  fortune,  on  the  Boerse,  through 
old  Seligmann's  good  offices." 

"Old  Seligmann  again." 

"Yes,  and  once  more.  You  know  how  worried  I  have 
been  about  the  insufficiency  of  the  school  fund.  Well, 
old  Seligmann  worked  out  a  plan  for  me  for  raising  the 
money — all  we  need  and  more — for  the  schools." 

"Goodness  gracious,"  said  Alice,  "isn't  that  the  sort  of 
'service  to  the  State'  men  get  orders  for  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  at  once?" 

"Because  it  gives  me  such  pleasure  to  see  you  work  so 
faithfully  and  hard  trying  to  keep  in  good  moral  trim  that 
wicked  man,  your  lover." 


408  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"Ulrich!    And  then  we  can  have  the  house?" 

"Surely." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad." 

Suddenly  a  shadow  crossed  her  face. 

"What  is  it,  dear?" 

"I  wonder  if  I  will  be  able  to  live  up  to  all  my  duties 
as  mistress  of  this  mansion  and  to  you  ?" 

"Duties?"     He  was  infinitely  amused. 

"Alice,  do  you  actually  consider  that  you  have  'duties' 
toward  me?" 

"Why  not  ?  Haven't  you  assumed  certain  obligations  ?" 

"Have  I  ?"  Until  recently  you  refused  to  recognize  any 
obligation  on  my  part." 

"You  are  referring  to  financial  obligations.  I  do  not 
recognize  any  monetary  obligation  on  your  part,  Ulrich." 

"What  then?" 

She  smoothed  the  beautiful  muff  of  grey  fox  which  she 
was  carrying  with  great  particularity.  Without  looking 
at  him,  she  said: 

"I  expect  you  to  be  faithful  to  me." 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

"You  do  not  suppose,  do  you,  that  I  have  been  un- 
faithful?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  don't  think  so.  I  hope  not.  If  I 
were  ever  to  learn  that  you  have  been  unfaithful  to  me,  I 
would  break  with  you  at  once.  It  is  just  as  well  that  you 
know." 

"That  sounds  almost  as  if  you  suspected  me — Alice, 
look  at  me.  What  put  such  notions  into  your  head, 
child?" 

"Child !"  she  laughed.    "Child !" 

"Alice,  you  are  thinking  of  some  particular  woman. 
Whom?" 

"Baroness  von  Hess." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  409 

The  blood  rushed  to  his  face. 

"You  know?" 

"Yes." 

"What?" 

"Last  year.  .  .  " 

"Exactly,  Alice.  Last  year.  It  is  ancient  history  by 
this  time.  It  was — oh,  you  wouldn't  understand  at  any 
rate." 

"I  am  not  an  idiot,"  she  protested.  "There  is  no  reason 
why  I  shouldn't  understand." 

"There  is,  Alice.  You  are  sweet  and  pure  and  good, 
and  for  that  reason  you  will  never  be  able  to  understand 
that  love,  which  to  you  is  so  serious  a  thing,  so  holy  a 
thing  even,  may  be  regarded  in  the  light  of  the  merest 
amusement,  to  kill  ennui." 

"I  have  been  told  so  before,"  she  said. 

"By  whom,  pray?" 

"Baroness  Hess  herself  told  me  the  same  story." 

"That  at  least  should  vouch  for  my  veracity.  Do  I 
understand  that  you  and  Baroness  Hess  discussed  me  ?" 

"Not  exactly  discussed.  I  mistrusted  her.  She  was 
very  kind  to  me  on  one  occasion.  I  do  not  quite  trust  her 
even  now." 

"You  can  safely  trust  her.  She  has  excellent  traits, 
and  she  can  be  a  loyal  and  devoted  friend.  By  all  means, 
allow  her  to  be  your  friend.  She  may  be  very  useful  to 
vou,  and  she  is  very  popular  in  Court  circles.  Cultivate 
her." 

"Ulrich,  I  wonder  if  you  will  ever  discuss  me  in  such 
a  hatefully  impersonal  way  with  another  woman?" 

After  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  replied : 

"Allow  me  to  employ  a  homely  simile  that  you  once 
used.  There  are  lapdogs,  fluffy  little  creatures,  so  spoiled 
and   ill-natured   that   they   alternately   whimper   to  be 


410  THE    GREATER    JOY 

caressed  or  snap  and  snarl  if  the  caress  is  ill-timed. 
These  toy-dogs  must  have  chicken  consomme  for  din- 
ner and  lie  on  down  pillows  and  coverlids  of  velvet 
or  silk.  They  must  have  a  maid  to  comb  and  brush 
and  curry  them,  a  footman  to  carry  them  to  the  park 
and  give  them  the  air,  for  if  they  were  to  walk  they 
would  take  cold  in  winter  and  in  summer  overheat 
themselves.  They  are  fair  weather  friends.  Deprive 
them  of  their  chicken  broth  and  their  little  velvet 
jackets,  their  combs  and  brushes  and  their  footmen,  and 
they  will  turn  into  insufferable  nuisances.  There  is  an- 
other sort  of  dog,  a  dog  with  humid,  human  eyes,  who, 
given  a  pool  of  water,  will  bathe  himself  and  run  about 
in  the  sun  until  he  is  dry.  He  will  eat  hard  tack  and 
sleep  under  a  coarse  blanket  on  a  deal  floor,  if  need  be. 
He  does  not  whine  for  a  caress,  but  now  and  then  softly 
nozzles  one's  hand,  to  show  that  he  is  there,  and  if  one  is 
in  trouble  or  in  grief,  he  will  divine  it  and  will  show  his 
affection  in  a  hundred  unobtrusive  ways.  One  does  not 
part  with  such  a  friend.     One  keeps  and  cherishes  him." 

She  came  and  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"Ulrich,  dear/'  she  said,  "I  am  going  to  make  a 
resolution,  and  I  want  you  to  make  the  same  resolution. 
In  future  we  will  not  be  jealous  of  each  other.  We  will 
trust  each  other/' 

"I  have  trusted  you  always." 

"But  you  have  been  jealous,  Ulrich,  so  jealous." 

"Lately,  yes." 

"Why?     Of  whom?" 

"Of  no  one  in  particular.  I  cannot  explain.  I  have 
such  a  horror  of  losing  you." 

"So  that  was  the  reason  you  wanted  me  to  marry  you 
the  other  evening?" 

"Yes." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  411 

"Ulrich,  I  faithfully  promise  you  that  I  will  remain 
with  you — be  your  very  own,  so  long  as  you  wish  it.  I 
consider  this  promise  as  binding  as  any  vow  cemented  by 
church  ritual  or  civic  document." 

"And  I  will  make  you  the  same " 

She  closed  his  mouth  with  a  kiss  before  he  could  finish. 

"Don't  spoil  matters,"  she  cried.  "You  must  make  me 
no  promise  of  any  sort." 

"It  is  not  fair  to  you,"  he  protested.  "You  are  making 
me  sure  of  yourself,  and  exact  no  bond  in  return." 

She  laughed  mischievously.  Again  the  enchanting 
change  of  mood  in  her  had  taken  place  that  so  delighted 
him. 

"Perhaps,"  she  teased,  "I  feel  more  sure  of  you  without 
the  bond" 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  Had  she  read  his  char- 
acter as  well  as  all  that  ? 

"You  see,  dear,"  she  said  coaxingly,  "we  are  different, 
you  and  I.  I — slavish  creature  that  I  am — love  to  feel 
the  chains  of  my  master  upon  me.  You,  dear,  would 
resent  even  the  thinnest  circlet  of  gold  that  would  be  em- 
blematic of  my  hold  upon  you." 

She  made  a  gesture  with  her  one  hand,  circling  it  about 
the  finger  on  which  the  marriage  ring  is  worn. 

"Come,  Ulrich,  let  us  go.  The  day  is  beautiful,  and 
we  have  not  spent  an  entire  afternoon  together  for 
months." 

"Then  we  will  take  the  house,  yes?  I  was  afraid  you 
would  not  want  a  new  house,  no  matter  how  beautiful.  I 
thought  you  might  prefer  a  house  with  associations — of 
children " 

"You  are  more  sentimental  than  I,  Ulrich.  Besides, 
the  house  has  associations — this  afternoon  has  given  it 
memories  of  ourselves." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

They  bought  the  rugs  and  the  furniture  for  the  bed- 
rooms in  Hohen  and  in  Paris.  For  the  appointments  of 
the  lower  floor,  they  intended  going  to  London.  Christy 
had  advertised  a  large  sale  of  old  French  and  English 
furniture,  and  Ulrich  was  very  keen  about  furnishing  the 
large  entrance  hall  in  old  English  style.  She  feigned  an 
enthusiasm  for  this  fashion  consequently  which  she  was 
far  from  feeling.  She  herself  would  have  preferred  to 
have  the  entire  lower  portion  of  the  house  furnished  in 
Louis  XVI  style,  which  to  her  seemed  ideal.  The  severe 
lines  of  Sheraton,  the  classic  simplicity  of  Adam,  the 
hybrid  grace  of  Hepplewhite  and  Chippendale  were  an 
annoyance  to  a  temperament  as  warmly  malleable  and 
flexible  as  her  own,  while  the  ornate  voluptuousness  of 
the  Louis  Quinze  period  offended  her  taste  of  decorum. 
But  the  Louis  Seize  style  satisfied  her.  She  loved  its 
modified  restraint,  the  piquancy  of  its  abbreviated  lines, 
of  its  quickly  terminating  curves. 

At  the  outset  she  had  known  very  little  of  all  these 
differences.  But  on  hearing  Ulrich  comment  upon  this 
and  that  style  of  furniture,  she  had  supplied  herself  with 
every  available  book  on  the  subject — German,  French, 
English,  and  had  industriously  applied  herself  to  assimi- 
lating their  contents.  She  was  surprised  when  she  fin- 
ished, to  discover  the  fondnesses  and  the  dislikes  which 
she  had  developed  for  perfectly  inoffensive  pieces  of  fur- 
niture.    She  meant  to  surprise  Ulrich  when  they  got  to 

412 


THE    GREATER    JOY  413 

London  with  her  intimate  acquaintance  of  one  of  his 
hobbies. 

Ulrich  desired  to  furnish  the  bird's-eye  maple  room  for 
her  as  a  surprise.  She  consented  to  this,  of  course,  and 
he  took  her  over  to  the  mansion  to  have  a  look  at  the 
completed  room. 

She  was  delighted  with  it.  He  had  had  the  ceilings 
repainted.  Instead  of  the  frescoes  of  plump,  clumsy 
Cupids  hovering  about  a  somewhat  buxom  Venus,  he 
had  had  Avisse,  a  friend  of  Bouchere,  substitute  a  flower- 
piece,  pink  and  white  roses  and  white  and  purple  lilacs 
trailing  about  circularly.  Avisse,  who  was  later  to 
achieve  a  reputation  as  a  flower  painter  as  great  as 
Longpre,  had  also  painted  the  panels  in  the  room  to 
match  the  ceiling,  which  were  sunk  into  the  walls,  the 
frames  of  the  panels  being  pale  blue  damask  edged  with 
gilt  and  held  by  narrow  rims  of  bird's-eye  maple.  Above 
the  mantel  was  a  long,  narrow  panel  which  Ulrich  had 
secured  from  Longpre  himself.  It  was  a  trifle  more  in- 
cisive, more  vigorous  than  the  younger  painter's  work, 
and  Ulrich,  in  pointing  this  out  to  Alice,  praised  the 
younger  man's  modesty  in  softening  his  own  tones.  The 
chairs  were  upholstered  in  pale  blue  damask  flowered 
with  pink  and  white  roses,  and  there  were  a  few  precise, 
prim  little  cane-bottomed  chairs  that  had  tiny  cushions 
of  the  same  damask  tied  to  their  backs. 

It  had  been  difficult  to  secure  a  rug  to  suitably  com- 
plete the  color  scheme  of  the  room.  Ulrich  had  at  first 
chosen  an  old  Polish  rug,  for  which  he  had  paid  forty-six 
thousand  francs.  Its  cool  green  shades,  the  bold  blending 
of  rose-tints  and  greens  that  were  verdant  as  a  lawn  after 
an  April  rain,  delighted  and  surprised  him,  and  it  had 
seemed  to  be  the  very  rug  to  set  off  Avisse's  beautiful 
work  effectually.    But  when  it  lay  in  the  room  its  verdure 


414  THE    GREATER    JOY 

i 

appeared  crude  and  the  audacity  of  its  coloring  seemed 
vulgar  and  gross.  He  then  procured  the  option  on  a  light- 
tinted  Persian  rug.  But  it  seemed  faded  and  musty  and 
sepulchral  beside  the  smart  brightness,  the  virginal  sweet- 
ness of  the  little  boudoir.  Finally  he  got  Avisse  to  de- 
sign a  rug  which  he  had  made  in  the  gobelin  and  tapestry 
factories  of  France,  and  the  result  was  satisfactory. 

She  was  charmed  with  the  apartment.  She  thanked 
him  again  and  again.  The  dainty  little  room  which  he 
had  fitted  up  for  her  with  such  loving  forethought,  seemed 
to  epitomize  all  that  was  tender  and  reverential  in  his 
feeling  for  her.  The  sense  of  sin  had  recently  been 
growing  weaker  and  weaker  in  her,  and  as  she  stood 
there,  she  suddenly  found  herself  saying,  "There  is  noth- 
ing sinful  in  our  relation,  nothing." 

The  same  evening  they  went  to  London.  They  stopped 
at  the  Savoy.  They  had  travelled  without  valet  or  maid, 
and  they  took  a  suite  of  three  rooms  only,  bath,  bedroom 
and  a  little  sitting  room.  They  registered  as  Dr.  von 
Dette  and  wife. 

As  she  watched  him  write  the  names,  she  experienced 
a  curious  sensation.  She  seemed  to  be  looking  down  a 
long,  long  lane,  bordered  on  either  side  by  enormous, 
century-old  trees,  and  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  lane  was 
a  tiny  light.  It  grew  large  and  bright  and  resolved  itself 
into  the  words  which  she  had  just  seen  him  write,  "Dr. 
von  Dette  and  wife."     It  was  almost  a  hallucination. 

The  next  day,  while  he  was  purchasing  cigarettes,  she 
asked  the  clerk  to  let  her  see  the  register,  pretending  that 
she  expected  a  friend  to  be  there.  She  merely  wished  to 
gloat  once  more  over  the  magic  words. 

She  was  still  looking  at  his  signature,  when  Ulrich 
came  back. 

"Are  you  expecting  to  see  a  friend,  Alice?" 


THE    GREATER    JOY  415 

"No."  The  clerk  looked  up  in  surprise.  To  cover  her 
confusion  she  said,  "Yes,  no.  One  always  hopes  to  find 
a  friend  even  if  one  does  not  expect  anyone  in  particular." 

Later  in  the  day,  as  they  came  in  from  a  stroll,  a 
smartly  gowned  woman  passed  them  in  the  hall  on  her 
way  to  one  of  the  parlors.     Alice  started. 

"Sally  Hoskins,"  she  ejaculated. 

"Someone  you  know?"  asked  Ulrich. 

"Yes,  indeed,  my  oldest  and  dearest  friend.  Do  you 
think  she  saw  me,  Ulrich?" 

"I  never  noticed.  Perhaps  you  had  better  not  speak 
to  her,  dear." 

"Nonsense,  Sally  wouldn't  cut  me.  Wait  for  me,  will 
you,  Ulrich?" 

"Very  well,"  he  said  obediently. 

She  hurried  after  Sally,  but  as  she  approached  her  old 
school-mate,  she  became  nervous.  What  if  Sally  did  cut 
her  after  all? 

"Alice  Vaughn,  I  declare!" 

Sally  literally  pounced  on  her.  "You  are  certainly  the 
last  person  I  expected  to  see  here.  Why,  dear  girl,  how 
well  you  look — and  how  happy." 

An  awkward  pause  fell.     Alice  said  abruptly: 

"Sally,  you  know  about  me,  don't  you?" 

Sally  nodded. 

"I  felt  I  ought  to  mention  it  to  you.  You  might  not 
care  to " 

"Nonsense,  dear,  but  I  am  glad  Mother  isn't  here. 
Mother  cried  for  two  days  and  two  nights,  Alice,  when 
we  first  heard  of  your  affair." 

"I  am  sorry.  Your  mother  was  very  kind  to  me. 
How  did  you  hear  of  it,  Sally?" 

"Through  the  papers.     They  treated  you  leniently,  I 


416  THE    GREATER    JOY 

must  say.  They  took  the  romantic  view  of  your  affair. 
Mother  didn't." 

Alice  looked  pained,  while  Sally  scrutinized  her  closely. 
Presently  she  said: 

"It  is  curious  to  girls  brought  up  as  you  and  I  were 
brought  up.  That  should  be  the  unpardonable  sin.  And 
yet  I  am  sure  you  are  the  same  sweet,  pure-minded 
girl  you  always  were." 

"I  hope  you  hadn't  expected  to  find  me  turned  into  a 
painted  Jezebel.  At  any  rate,  I  am  glad  you  are  not  more 
scandalized,  Sally." 

"I  think  that,  as  we  grow  older,  we  modern  women,  we 
look  at  things  from  such  a  different  view-point.  It  is  not 
the  offence  against  morality  in  the  abstract  that  appals 
us.  It  is  the  concrete  consequences  for  the  person  com- 
mitting the  breach  that  frighten  us.  And  in  your  case 
it  has  turned  out  well." 

"That  is  my  good  fortune,  Sally.  If  Ulrich  were  dif- 
ferent than  he  is,  I  might  to-day  be — well,  you  know 
what." 

"If  he  were  different  than  he  is,  you  probably  wouldn't 
have  fallen  in  love  with  him." 

Alice  laughed. 

"You  seem  fabulously  happy,"  said  her  old  chum. 

"I  am  happy,  so  very  happy !" 

"And  you  have  no  regrets  ?" 

"None  whatever." 

"That  is  more  than  most  married  women  can  say." 

"Aren't  you  happy,  Sally  ?" 

"I'm  divorced.  Another  woman,  of  course.  It  hurt 
horribly — I  was  so  very  much  in  love  with  him." 

"I  am  so  sorry,  Sally." 

They  were  both  silent  a  moment — then  presently  Alice 
said: 


THE    GREATER    JOY  417 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  introduce  Ulrich  to  you?  I 
should  like  you  to  see  him.  If  you  blame  me  a  little,  you 
will  not  blame  me  after  you  have  seen  him.  You  know 
I  have  never  forgotten  that  you  saved  me  from  Ned." 

Sally  smiled. 

"What  a  little  Puritan  you  were  in  those  days,  Alice !" 

"That  is  what  Ulrich  calls  me  now." 

"Does  he?  That  shows  appreciation."  Yes,  I  will  let 
you  introduce  your  Ulrich  to  me." 

Alice  rang  for  a  page,  and  sent  her  lover  a  note,  asking 
him  to  come  to  her,  and  the  three  sat  and  chatted  for  over 
an  hour.  Ulrich  was  charming  and  natural.  At  first  he 
addressed  Sally  almost  exclusively,  and  Alice  purposely 
refrained  from  helping  the  conversation  along.  She 
wanted  to  see  how  they  would  get  on  together.  But 
Ulrich  forced  her  to  talk.  Once  he  got  up  and  closed  a 
window  which  caused  a  draught  on  Alice's  back.  In- 
stead of  reseating  himself  on  the  chair  opposite  to  Sally, 
he  sat  down  beside  Alice  on  a  divan,  and  began  playing 
with  her  gloves.    Suddenly  he  said : 

"That  reminds  me,  dear,  you  forgot  to  mend  my  glove 
for  me." 

"So  I  did.  I  will  mend  it  before  luncheon.  You  see, 
Sally,  we  are  doing  our  own  valeting  and  maiding." 

A  perplexed,  puzzled  look  came  into  Sally's  face. 
Ulrich  excused  himself  soon  after,  and  Alice  said: 

"Ulrich,  dear,  before  you  go,  please  leave  me  a  little 
money.  I  want  to  get  some  souvenir  cards,  and  I  have 
no  English  money." 

He  handed  her  some  gold,  and  asked  her  if  it  was 
enough. 

When  he  was  gone,  Sally  said  enthusiastically : 

"You  are  right,  Alice.  I  do  not  blame  you  in  the  least 
now  I  have  seen  him.     He  is  very  charming.     But,  my 


418  THE    GREATER    JOY 

dear,  I  have  never  seen  a  husband  and  wife  who  are  as 
husbandly  and  wifely  as  you  two." 

"Ulrich  says  we  are  getting  to  be  disgustingly  spiess- 
buergerlich.  But,  oh,  Sally,  it  is  so  sweet  to  be  vulgarly 
happy,  and  I  love  to  think  of  his  little  comforts/' 

"Don't  tell  me  you  warm  his  slippers  for  him,"  cried 
Sally,  horrified. 

"I've  done  worse  than  that.  I  put  his  slippers  on  for 
him." 

"Alice,  how  I  envy  you !" 

"Don't,  Sally,  dear.  You  do  not  know  what  humilia- 
tion may  yet  be  in  store  for  me.  But  whatever  happens, 
Sally,  I  would  not  barter  this  year  of  supreme  happiness 
I  have  had  with  him  for  a  cycle  of  dull  content." 

Before  they  parted,  Alice  asked  her  friend  to  visit  her 
at  Hohen.  But  Sally  said  that  at  present  she  would  not 
come.  Her  own  unhappiness  still  wore  a  raw  edge;  she 
could  not  bear  to  be  in  the  presence  of  such  radiant,  over- 
whelming joy  as  informed  her  friend. 

In  the  afternoon  Ulrich  and  Alice  went  to  Christy's, 
and  Ulrich  complimented  her  upon  her  knowledge  of  fur- 
niture and  the  judgment  she  showed  in  appraising  its  age 
and  its  value. 

"Rank  charlatanism,  Ulrich.  I  guessed.  I  was  so 
ashamed  of  my  ignorance,  I  skimmed  through  a  dozen 
books  the  last  two  weeks." 

Ulrich  was  delighted. 

"I  hope  you  are  going  to  ask  me  to  buy  you  some- 
thing," he  said.  "You  have  never  yet  asked  me  to  buy 
something  in  particular." 

"How  can  I  ?    You  anticipate  my  every  wish." 

They  left  Christy's  early,  and  drove  to  Westminster 
Abbey.  Shoulder  to  shoulder,  they  read  off  the  names  of 
the  illustrious  dead. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  419 

Alice  had  never  been  in  London  before,  and  she  rev- 
elled in  the  literary  atmosphere,  the  historic  associations 
which  abounded  about  her.  In  the  glow  of  her  enjoy- 
ment she  forgot  entirely  that  her  lover's  ancestors  also 
had  helped  to  make  history,  and  that  his  race  could  claim 
kinship  with  half  a  dozen  of  England's  sovereigns.  He 
in  no  way  interrupted  her  ecstasies.  It  amused  him  to 
see  her  so  effervescent.  Suddenly  she  recollected  his 
identity. 

"What  a  goose  you  must  think  me,  Ulrich,  to  enthuse 
so  about  dead  royalty!" 

He  laughed. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "I  myself  lack  the  proper  reverence 
for  royalty.  No  one,  I  imagine,  but  a  free-born  Ameri- 
can citizen,  ever  enjoys  to  the  uttermost  the  savor  and 
pomp  of  royal  rank." 

"Now  you  are  laughing  at  me,  Ulrich." 

"No,  dear.  I  am  laughing  at  myself.  What  miserable 
puppets  we  are,  we  kings  and  princes!  I  feel  this  very 
keenly,  and  yet  I  lack  the  courage  to  divest  myself  of  all 
the  tinselled  fripperies  of  rank.  That's  the  saddest  part 
of  it,  Alice.  One's  moral  fibre  becomes  vitiated,  emascu- 
lated. In  the  eyes  of  our  subjects  we  are  nothing  but  a 
breed  of  race-horses,  whom  they  stable  and  feed  and  care 
for  for  their  own  especial  delectation  on  gala-days,  and 
in  return  for  the  stabling  and  the  grooming  and  the  feed, 
the  race-horses  must  breed  as  the  people  desire — that  is 
to  say,  only  with  our  kind — lest  a  drop  of  newer,  alien 
blood  give  too  substantial  a  grain  to  our  muscle,  or  cor- 
rugate our  brain  too  thoroughly,  or,  in  brief,  lessen  our 
toy  and  show  qualities.  And  so  from  generation  to  gen- 
eration we  breed  as  our  masters  desire — in  return  for  our 
stabling  and  our  grooming  and  our  feed." 


420  THE    GREATER    JOY 

"That's  the  first  time,  Ulrich,  I  have  ever  heard  you 
say  anything  crude." 

"If  the  truth  offends  you,  I  am  sorry." 

"It  is  not  the  truth  I  object  to,  but  your  manner  of 
putting  it." 

Her  lips  curled  disdainfully,  the  tilt  of  her  nose  was 
eloquent  of  disgust.  He  saw  that  she  was  really 
offended. 

"I  spoke  to  you,  Alice,  as  to  a  brother  scientist,  in 
scientific  jargon." 

Her  mouth  relaxed,  become  less  rigid. 

"There  is  Egon,"  she  said,  and  with  joy  inexpressible 
he  realized  that  she  was  angry  with  him  for  disparaging 
himself.    "You  are  not  as  selfish  as  you  pretend  to  be." 

He  was  silent  for  a  minute,  then  he  said : 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  a  good  deal  more  selfish  than  you 
think.  I  am  afraid  my  love  of  my  rank  is  stronger  than 
my  love  of  my  profession  and  than  my  love  of  Egon." 

"Stronger  also,"  she  said  a  little  bitterly,  "than  your 
love  of  me?" 

"No,  that  is  not  true,  Alice.  If  I  had  to  choose  be- 
tween you  and  my  rank,  you  know  very  well  that  I  would 
not  relinquish  you.  But  since  you  indulge  me,  allow  me 
to  keep  my  plaything,  my  title,  my  appanage,  I  wonki 
be  foolish,  would  I  not,  to  insist  on  giving  them  up?  I 
hope  you  realize  by  this  time,  my  dear  girl,  that  the  feel- 
ing over  and  above  love  which  I  feel  for  you  is  not  con- 
tempt, as  you  imagined  it  would  be,  but  a  very  profound 
gratitude." 

She  smiled  up  into  his  face. 

A  little  later  she  said,  "Isn't  George  Eliot  buried 
here?" 

"No." 

"Why?" 


THE    GREATER    JOY  421 


'Because- 


"I  see.  Ulrich,  if  they  barred  all  the  men  against 
whose  lives  they  could  place  a  bar  sinister,  how  many  of 
the  illustrious  dead,  do  you  think,  would  have  to  be 
ejected  ?" 

He  pretended  to  be  shocked,  but  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing.    Suddenly  he  asked : 

"How  far  back  can  you  trace  your  ancestry?" 

"To  the  earliest  times,"  she  replied  tartly.  "We  are 
all  descended  from  Adam  and  Eve." 

He  did  not  smile,  but  said  insistently : 

"Answer  me  seriously,  dear." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  never  cared  a  fig  for  pedigrees 
and  that  sort  of  thing.  I  heard  too  much  about  it  when 
I  was  a  child,  I  think.  My  aunt  was  very  democratic, 
and  my  father  was  the  reverse.  He  used  to  talk  family 
history,  and  that  we  were  descended  from  Robert  the 
Bruce,  or  Llewellyn,  or  somebody,  and  my  aunt  used  to 
poke  fun  at  him.  So  I  learned  to  think  there  was  noth- 
ing in  what  father  used  to  say." 

"But  was  there?" 

"I  do  not  know,  Ulrich.  There's  an  old,  old  oaken 
chest  in  the  attic  at  home,  in  my  home  town  I  mean,  in 
which  there  are  a  lot  of  old  papers." 

"Is  the  place  closed  ?" 

"No.  It's  rented.  I  lived  on  the  rental,  until  you 
rescued  me." 

"Is  the  chest  safe?" 

"Perfectly." 

"Some  day  we'll  go  over  there,  and  go  through  those 
papers." 

"What  an  odd  notion  of  yours,  Ulrich !" 

"Oh,  well "  he  answered  evasively. 

The  sale  at  Christy's  was  to  start  the  next  afternoon, 


422  THE    GREATER    JOY 

and  they  got  there  an  hour  before  the  sale  started. 
Ulrich  was  intensely  interested  in  a  suit  of  old  French 
armor — a  jousting  suit,  with  an  enormous  javelin,  helm- 
plate,  cabasset  and  gloves. 

"I  think  I  shall  buy  that  for  myself,  Alice.  I  do  wish 
there  was  something  you  fancied  particularly/' 

Suddenly  a  great  wave  of  tenderness  for  him  swept 
over  her.  She  was  superlatively  happy,  and  he  had  made 
her  so.  She  desired  to  actively  contribute  to  his  happi- 
ness. It  seemed  to  her  that  he  was  doing  so  much  more 
for  her  than  she  could  ever  do  for  him.  She  remem- 
bered the  wish  he  had  expressed  that  she  would  ask  him 
to  buy  her  some  particular  objet  de  vertu.  Hastily  she 
glanced  about  to  find  something  that  she  might  request 
him  to  purchase,  something  that  was  not  very  expensive. 

"Ulrich." 

"Yes,  dear?" 

"I  should  like  you  to  give  me  something,  a  vase  for  my 
boudoir/1 

His  face  lighted  up  with  a  flame-like  radiance.  She 
pretended  not  to  notice  how  happy  she  had  made  him. 

"Which  vase,  dear?" 

"That  one  over  there,  the  small  greyish  vase." 

It  was  as  she  thought,  a  shabby-looking  little  thing, 
worth  probably — since  such  bric-a-brac  sold  for  enormous 
prices — about  fifty  or  seventy  pounds.  She  had,  unfor- 
tunately, omitted  the  study  of  porcelains  from  her  cur- 
riculum. 

"Yes,  dearest,"  he  pressed  her  hand  lightly. 

They  approached  the  case.  She  saw  that  he  was  look- 
ing at  a  different  vase  from  the  one  she  had  in  mind. 
The  one  he  was  looking  at  was  very  much  prettier  and 
richer  looking.  It  was  underglazed  in  pale  blue,  and  the 
dragons  and  eagles  which  formed  the  design  had  eyes  and 


THE    GREATER    JOY  423 

talons  and  beaks  of  inlaid  jade.  She  was  sure  it  was 
much  more  expensive  than  the  insignificant  little  vase  she 
had  selected.  And  she  did  not  wish  him  to  spend  a  large 
sum  for  the  gift.  He  could  easily  afford  seventy  pounds 
or  so,  and  the  pleasure  in  presenting  it  to  her  would  be 
wholly  sentimental,  at  any  rate. 

"I  didn't  mean  the  blue  vase,  Ulrich,  but  the  little  grey 
vase.,, 

"Don't  you  think  the  blue  as  pretty  ?" 

"I  prefer  the  grey  one,"  she  said  resolutely.  "The  blue 
one  is  not  nearly  as  nice." 

He  looked  dubious.  She  thought  he  disapproved  of 
her  taste. 

"The  grey  one  is  charming,"  she  said.  It  was  just  like 
him  to  want  her  to  have  the  more  expensive  vase. 

He  consulted  the  catalog.  His  face  became  grave, 
pained  even.  She  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  Suddenly 
he  looked  up. 

"I  am  so  very  sorry,  dearest,"  he  said  in  a  crestfallen 
voice.  "It  is  the  first  thing  you  have  ever  asked  me  to 
give  you,  and  now  I  am  forced  to  refuse  it.  The  grey 
vase  is  eggshell  porcelain.  There  are  only  two  speci- 
mens like  it  in  existence,  and  it  is  valued  at  about  six 
thousand  pounds  sterling." 

Dumfounded  she  stood  and  looked  at  him.  He  mis- 
understood her  silence. 

"If  it  is  not  sold  to-day,"  he  said,  "I  will  see  if  I  can 
get  Seligmann  to  loan  me  the  money  on  a  note,  and  then, 
perhaps  I  can  get  it  for  you  at  any  rate." 

Alice  was  crushed  by  the  catastrophe  that  had  over- 
taken her  crafty  plan  to  make  him  happy. 

"I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  expensive,"  she  said  vaguely. 
He  assured  her  he  would  try  to  get  the  money.  She  im- 
plored him  not  to  run  into  debt,  but  to  get  the  blue  one 


424  THE    GREATER    JOY 

instead.  He  retorted  it  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  since 
she  didn't  fancy  the  blue  one.  And  so  on  and  on.  The 
situation  was  ludicrous. 

Finally  she  made  him  come  and  sit  down  beside  her  on 
a  divan.  She  told  him  of  the  failure  of  her  little  plan  to 
give  him  pleasure.  At  first  he  would  not  believe  her,  but 
when  he  was  convinced,  he  threw  back  his  head  and 
laughed.  When  he  looked  at  her  again,  the  love-light 
was  in  his  eyes. 

"I  wish  I  were  as  rich  as  J.  P.  Morgan,  or  John  D. — 
so  I  could  buy  you  everything  you  cared  for,  pictures, 
vases,  jewelry,  gowns,  gems." 

While  he  spoke  the  love-light  flickered  and  flamed,  and 
made  of  his  fine  dark  eyes  a  pair  of  matchless  gems.  She 
wanted  to  tell  him  that  so  long  as  she  had  the  power  to 
transform  his  eyes  into  such  wells  of  light,  she  did  not 
value  any  gem  on  earth.  But  she  said  nothing.  She 
feared  he  might  forget  himself  and  kiss  her  then  and 
there. 

That  evening,  as  they  sat  in  the  sitting-room,  Alice  was 
humming  a  song.  Sally  had  once  remarked  that  she  had 
no  ear  and  less  voice.  Which  was  true.  Ulrich  endured 
the  discord  for  a  few  minutes.  Then,  with  aggravating 
affability,  he  said : 

"Alice,  dear,  would  it  inconvenience  you  greatly  to  stop 
those  attempts  at  warbling?  Your  voice,  you  know,  is 
amorphous." 

"Just  what  does  'amorphous'  mean?"  she  asked 
sweetly. 

To  tantalize  her,  he  retorted : 

"Well,  your  voice  is  amorphous — that  should  explain 
the  word." 

He  did  not  remove  his  eyes  from  the  magazine  he  was 
reading,  and  when  she  looked  at  him,  she  saw  that  he  was 


THE    GREATER    JOY  425 

smiling,  and  from  the  quality  of  that  smile  she  knew  that 
lie  expected  her  to  kiss  him. 

But  she  did  not  kiss  him.  She  stopped  humming,  and 
went  on  with  her  embroidery.  She  was  not  in  the  least 
offended  by  his  frankness.  She  remembered  how  bit- 
terly she  had  resented  a  similar  remark  made  by  him  a 
few  months  before.  How  the  bond  between  them  was 
tightening,  how  firm  and  indissoluble  it  was  becoming! 
Even  a  few  months  ago  she  had  understood  him  very 
inadequately. 

His  previous  criticism  of  her  singing  voice  had  made 
her  utterly  miserable.  She  believed  that  since  he  found 
any  action  of  hers  unendurable,  he  could  not  possibly  love 
her,  and  she  had  ended  that  evening  in  complete  dejection. 
Finally  she  had  overcome  the  mood  by  reminding  herself 
of  his  delicacy  and  kindness  on  a  hundred  and  one  occa- 
sions. 

She  recalled  an  episode  that  had  occurred  at  the  very 
outset  of  their  liaison,  soon  after  she  had  come  to  Hohen. 
He  was  forced  to  attend  a  physicians'  convention  in  Paris, 
and  as  she  was  still  clinging  to  her  reputation  at  that 
time,  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  accompany  him.  She 
had  not  believed  that  he  was  going  to  attend  a  conven- 
tion. She  thought  it  was  the  call  of  Paris,  and  she  re- 
membered that  some  French  writer  had  spoken  of  "nos- 
talgic de  la  boue"  and  she  thought  it  was  this  that  was 
taking  him  from  her  side.  She  suffered  miserably  after 
he  had  gone,  and  even  his  daily  letter  failed  to  reassure 
her.  The  letters  seemed  perfunctory,  they  were  very 
different  from  himself.  Later  on  she  learned  his  ab- 
horrence of  letter-writing,  and  that  it  had  been  the  first 
time  in  years  that  he  had  sent  anyone  a  letter  written  by 
himself.  But  at  the  time  she  fretted  and  worried,  and 
finally  her  fretting  and  worrying  brought  on  a  bad  head- 


426  THE    GREATER    JOY 

ache.  That  was  the  fourth  day  after  he  had  left.  By 
noon  she  was  blind  with  pain,  and  decided  to  go  to  bed. 
Then  he  had  called  her  on  the  long  distance  telephone. 
He  spoke  in  English,  so  that  no  one  would  overhear.  He 
told  her  he  would  be  with  her  that  evening  at  ten  o'clock, 
and  would  go  back  to  Paris  with  the  one  o'clock  train. 
He  concluded,  "I  have  been  in  torment,  dearest,  for  the 
last  twenty- four  hours.  You  will  not  mind,  I  hope?  I 
would  be  worth  nothing  for  the  rest  of  my  stay.  Is  it 
all  right  r 

She  had  answered  that  it  would  be  all  right,  but  after 
she  had  disconnected,  she  had  questioned  her  right  to 
withhold  from  him  the  fact  of  her  headache.  But  she 
was  confident  that  she  would  be  able  to  get  rid  of  the 
pain  before  he  arrived,  now  her  maddening  fear  was  ob- 
viated. She  took  a  powder,  and  went  to  bed.  But  she 
could  not  get  to  sleep  because  now  she  worried  that  she 
might  still  be  ill  when  he  arrived.  She  took  another 
powder.  It  had  no  effect.  At  five  she  sent  for  a  phy- 
sician, and  asked  for  a  hypodermic.  He  refused  to  give 
it,  saying  she  would  be  all  right  by  morning.  She  sent 
for  another  physician,  with  the  same  result.  It  was  nine 
o'clock  by  that  time,  and  the  throbbing  in  her  head  was 
excruciating.  Would  he  be  very  angry?  She  felt  he 
had  a  right  to  be  angry.  She  had  no  right  to  allow  him 
to  make  the  long  and  tedious  trip  when  she  did  not  know 
whether  she  would  be  feeling  well.  She  should  have  told 
him  over  the  telephone,  and  allowed  him  to  decide  what 
he  would  do. 

At  last  he  came.  When  he  heard  she  was  ill,  he  im- 
mediately metamorphosed  himself  from  the  lover  into  the 
physician.  He  was  solicitude  itself.  He  reproached  her 
in  no  way.     Tired  as  he  was  from  his  trip,  he  insisted  on 


THE    GREATER    JOY  427 

massaging  her  neck  and  shoulders,  which,  he  said,  would 
relieve  the  nerves  of  the  head.  Within  fifteen  minutes 
she  felt  so  decided  an  improvement  that  she  was  able  to 
talk  to  him.  But  when  he  asked  her  what  had  brought  on 
such  a  headache,  she  lacked  the  courage  to  tell  him  that 
she  had  been  afraid  of  him.  Then  she  began  saying  how 
sorry  she  was  to  disappoint  him  after  his  long  trip,  but 
he  laughed  at  her,  and  called  her  his  silly  little  sweetheart. 
Then  he  left  her,  bidding  her  go  to  sleep  at  once,  before 
the  effects  of  the  massage  could  wear  off. 

How  vividly  she  recalled  everything !  At  one  time  she 
had  tormented  herself  with  the  thought  that  he  loved  her 
for  her  beauty  only.  There  was  a  legend  of  old  Mexico 
City,  told  by  Janvier,  which  relates  how  a  beautiful  girl, 
to  test  the  love  of  her  betrothed  husband,  destroyed  her 
beauty  by  holding  her  face  over  a  brazier  filled  with  burn- 
ing coal.  She  had  frequently  meant  to  ask  Ulrich  what 
he  thought  of  the  story.  She  knew  him  so  well  that  she 
thought  she  know  what  he  would  answer.  He  would  say 
that  as  the  girl  had  been  beautiful  when  she  accepted  the 
man,  and  that  as  marriage  was  a  contract  and  woman's 
beauty  an  asset,  she  was  not  living  up  to  the  terms  of  the 
contract  and  was  virtually  cheating  the  man  when  she 
defaced  herself. 

Alice  was  seized  with  a  desire  to  see  how  closely  his 
words  would  correspond  with  her  notion  of  his  views. 

For  a  moment  she  sat  watching  him.  The  smile  with 
which  he  had  anticipated  the  kiss  which  she  had  withheld 
was  gone.  He  had  forgotten  all  about  that  episode,  about 
her.  He  was  immersed  in  the  medical  treatise  he  was 
reading. 

She  felt  no  jealousy  of  his  interest  in  his  work.  Cap- 
able as  she  was  of  the  intense  jealousy  of  other  women, 


428  THE    GREATER    JOY 

the  petty,  narrow  egotism  which  makes  the  shallow 
woman  jealous  of  her  husband's  brain- work  was  entirely- 
foreign  to  her. 

She  sat  down  on  the  arm  of  the  heavily  upholstered 
chair,  and  put  her  arms  about  his  shoulder.  He  con- 
tinued reading,  but  the  smile  came  back  to  his  face,  and 
he  reached  for  the  hand  that  lay  upon  his  shoulder  and 
laid  it  against  his  cheek.  Suddenly  he  kissed  her  inner 
arm,  and,  without  having  said  a  word,  continued  his 
reading. 

Heavens,  how  she  loved  him !  How  sweet  it  was  to 
be  near  him  day  and  night  as  she  had  been  for  the  past 
forty-eight  hours.  Not  since  their  honeymoon  had  they 
been  so  uninterruptedly  together,  and  then  they  had  each 
had  a  suite  of  rooms,  and  here  they  shared  the  same  room 
both  at  night  and  in  the  day.  She  wondered  whether  he 
was  enjoying  this  mutual  life  as  she.  Probably  not. 
Probably  he  had  not  thought  about  it. 

Finally  he  put  away  the  magazine,  and  opened  his  arms. 
She  did  not  creep  into  them,  as  he  had  expected,  but  said : 

"I  want  you  to  listen  to  a  short  story  I  am  going  to  tell 
you.  I  want  your  opinion  of  the  heroine."  And  she  re- 
lated the  story  of  the  girl  and  the  brazier.  When  she 
had  finished,  he  said : 

"I  think  the  girl  was  very  foolish  to  destroy  her  beauty. 
She  must  have  been  very  young  and  blinded  by  religious 
mania,  or  she  would  have  realized  that  she  had  aroused  in 
her  future  husband  along  with  his  love  the  rarest  and 
most  precious  of  all  sentiments — admiration.  It  is  very 
rarely  that  a  lover  can  whole-heartedly  admire  a  woman, 
since  the  critical  attitude  is  by  no  means  incompatible  with 
love.  The  brazier  girl,  in  deliberately  substituting  com- 
passion for  admiration,  showed  herself  lamentably  ig- 
norant of  the  subtle  refinements  of  which  the  human  soul 


THE    GREATER    JOY  429 

is  capable.  Compassion  is  such  a  vulgar  sentiment. 
Every  decent-minded  man  and  woman  experiences  it  half 
a  dozen  times  a  day  for  the  blind,  the  poor,  the  halt.  The 
deluded  girl  chose  to  throw  away  a  divine  spark  for  a  bit 
of  tawdry  tinsel." 

Alice  was  delighted  with  her  lover's  answer,  which 
showed  greater  fineness  and  a  more  superb  nobility  than 
she  had  attributed  to  him. 

"I  hope  you  do  not  contemplate  buying  a  brazier,"  he 
said. 

"I  am  not  neurotic,  thank  heaven,"  she  retorted. 

She  went  to  the  piano  and  opened  it.  It  was  a  good 
instrument,  and  she  played  the  scales  rapidly  and  fluently 
to  test  its  pitch  and  quality.  It  satisfied  her.  Ulrich,  on 
that  far-away  occasion  when  he  had  criticised  her  singing, 
had  also  commented  on  the  manner  of  her  playing.  He 
said  she  played  after  the  abominable  American  fashion, 
which  consisted  of  spanking  and  maltreating  the  keys 
instead  of  manipulating  them. 

She  knew  he  was  right  and  that  her  touch  was  atro- 
cious, so  she  had  procured  the  best  teacher  in  Hohen  and 
had  worked  "like  a  galley-slave,"  as  she  expressed  it 
over  her  touch.     But  this  she  had  not  told  him. 

As  she  seated  herself  at  the  piano  a  look  of  comical 
dismay  came  into  Ulrich's  face.  Doubtless  she  intended 
hammering  off  some  selection  from  comic  opera,  a  form 
of  entertainment  particularly  displeasing  to  him.  But  he 
said  nothing.  She  had  allowed  him  to  read  his  magazine 
article  in  peace,  without  humming  in  his  ears.  It  would 
really  be  a  shame  to  deprive  her  of  this  other  outlet  for 
her  feelings. 

She  played  "Asa's  Death"  from  the  Peer  Gynt  Suite  by 
Grieg,  played  it  solemnly,  mystically,  wfrchingly,  with 
all  the  lurid  pathos,  the  hidden  pain  which  the  magical 


430  THE    GREATER    JOY 

composition  is  capable  of  yielding.  She  played  with  an 
authoritative  touch  that  amazed  him.  He  spoke  to  her, 
asked  her  who  had  taught  her,  begged  her  to  reply,  but 
she  ignored  his  volley  of  questions,  and  having  finished 
"Asa's  Death"  she  improvised  a  few  bars  in  order  to  make 
a  graceful  transition  from  the  grave  Norseman  to  the 
joyous  simplicity  of  Mendelssohn.  As  she  broke  into  the 
"Spring  Song/'  and  trill  after  trill  tripped  forth  from  un- 
der her  fingers,  and  bubbled  out  its  melodious  flood-tide 
of  youth  and  joy  and  happiness,  he  stood  near  her  with 
the  face  of  a  man  who  sees  a  vision. 

"Alice,  it  is  wonderful — and  in  such  a  short  time — you 
must  have  worked  very  hard — you  did  this  to  please 
me?" 

She  did  not  reply,  but  played  on  and  on.  She  caught 
the  look  of  entreaty  in  his  eyes.  Smiling,  still  playing, 
she  threw  back  her  head  and  offered  him  her  lips. 

"Darling,"  he  murmured,  "how  happy  we  are !" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

Ulrich  had  telephoned  that  he  would  be  late,  asking  her 
to  wait  up  for  him  if  not  too  tired.  So  she  sat,  in  neg- 
ligee, in  her  pretty  rose  and  lilac  garnished  boudoir,  read- 
ing and  waiting. 

It  was  one  o'clock  when  he  finally  came. 

"I  thought  I  would  never  get  rid  of  the  whole  gang," 
he  said.  The  "gang"  were  the  ministers  of  state.  He 
kissed  her  absentmindedly. 

"You  are  very  tired,  Ulrich."  As  he  did  not  reply,  she 
asked : 

"Will  you  have  something  to  eat?  I  have  some  sand- 
wiches for  you  and  some  nice  cold  Pilsener.  Also  Lau- 
benheimer.     Both  cold.     Are  you  hungry?" 

"I  could  eat  iron  bars  and  wooden  tables." 

She  produced  the  sandwiches,  and  he  looked  them  over 
critically. 

"I  don't  like  roast  beef  sandwiches,"  he  said. 

"Of  all  unbelievable  ingratitude,"  said  Alice  laughing. 
"They  are  not  roast  beef.     Tongue  and  chicken." 

He  helped  himself  to  a  chicken  sandwich. 

"HowisEgon?" 

"Better.  He  will  be  all  right  to-morrow.  I  was  afraid 
this  morning  that  it  might  be  something  serious." 

She  peeled  an  apple  for  him,  and  then  came  and  sat 
on  his  lap,  and  fed  it  to  him  in  slices,  and  between  each 
mouthful  she  wiped  his  mouth  with  a  filmy  lace  kerchief 
and  kissed  him. 

This  mode  of  eating  was  not  expeditious,  and  fully  half 

431 


432  THE    GREATER    JOY 

an  hour  elapsed  before  he  had  finished  the  apple.  Then 
the  telephone  rang,  and  Alice,  who  was  already  undress- 
ing, ran  to  answer  the  call. 

"Yes,  Frau  von  Schwellenberg,  the  Prince  Regent  is 
here.  No,  he  is  not  in  bed.  What  is  the  matter? 
What?    The  King  is  worse?    Here,  Ulrichr 

Ulrich  said  very  little  but  listened  attentively  to  what 
the  Freiherrin  was  saying. 

"I  had  better  go  right  home,"  he  said,  as  he  hung  up 
the  receiver.  "I  do  not  think  Egon  is  as  ill  as  she  seems 
to  think,  still  I  had  better  go." 

In  spite  of  his  indifferent  manner,  Alice  saw  that  he 
was  greatly  troubled. 

"Let  me  come,  too,  Ulrich,,,  she  begged.  "I  may  be 
able  to  help  you." 

"Not  to-night,"  he  said  firmly.  "I  will  telephone  you 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning." 

After  he  had  gone,  she  began  rummaging  around  to 
find  a  plain  white  shirtwaist  and  skirt  to  wear  in  case 
Egon  required  nursing.  She  found  her  old  nurse's  uni- 
form, and  measured  the  waistband  and  bust.  She  found 
that  she  would  not  be  able  to  wear  it.  It  was  amazing 
how  much  stouter  she  had  become  in  the  last  year. 

After  finding  what  she  needed,  she  went  to  bed.  She 
was  awake  before  six,  and  ringing  for  her  maid,  she  took 
a  cold  bath  and  a  cup  of  chocolate;  then  motored  to  the 
Neues  Palais. 

There  was  no  need  to  ask  Ulrich  whether  Egon  was 
*  dangerously  ill.  His  face  was  sufficient  index  of  the  fact. 
He  was  very  pale,  almost  ashen,  his  eyes  showed  deep 
circles,  and  were  rimmed  with  red.  He  had  telegraphed 
to  Paris  and  Berlin  for  a  number  of  specialists  for  chil- 
dren's diseases.  He  feared  that  spinal  meningitis  was 
developing,   but   would   not  trust  his   own   judgment. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  433 

What  puzzled  him  was  that  Egon  was  lucid  and  con- 
scious. 

The  specialists  were  due  by  noon,  and  Ulrich  snatched 
three  hours  of  sleep  before  they  came.  They  had  a  long 
consultation,  and  finally  concluded  that  Egon  had  menin- 
gitis complicated  with  intestinal  catarrh. 

For  two  days  and  two  nights,  alternately  and  together, 
Ulrich  and  Alice,  side  by  side,  fought  a  losing  battle  with 
death.  They  knew  it  was  a  losing  battle,  but  they  fought 
on  valiantly,  blindly,  never  relaxing  their  vigilance,  hop- 
ing against  hope  that  Egon  would  live. 

On  the  third  morning,  Egon  said : 

"Dear,  dear  Schatzie,  I  believe  there  is  one  thing  that 
could  make  me  well.  Would  Cousin  Ulrich  permit  them 
to  call  me  King  just  once?" 

She  went  to  Ulrich,  and  told  him  what  the  child  had 
said. 

"Very  well,"  he  said.  "He  shall  have  his  wish  ful- 
filled." 

A  half-hour  later  the  Aides,  the  Royal  Guard,  all  in 
full  dress  uniform,  entered  the  room  where  the  little  King 
lay  dying.  They  arranged  themselves  about  the  room, 
and  stood  at  attention.  There  followed  the  Ministers, 
the  Royal  Chaplain,  the  Master  of  Ceremonies,  the  Master 
of  the  Royal  Horse,  the  Chamberlain,  the  ladies-in-wait- 
ing, the  gentlemen  of  Ulrich's  suite.  The  room  was 
crowded  with  men  in  gay  uniforms,  with  smartly  gowned 
women. 

Egon  lay  back  among  his  pillows,  his  fever-glazed  eyes 
rapturously  devouring  every  detail  of  the  pageant. 

"Dear  Countess  Gortza,"  he  murmured,  "how  happy  I 
am!" 

One  by  one  they  came  forward,  bent  over  the  child's 
emaciated  little  hand,  and  kissed  it.     One  by  one  they 


434  THE    GREATER    JOY 

passed  from  the  room  slowly.  Some  of  the  women 
sobbed.     Not  an  eye  in  the  room  was  dry. 

Alice  stood  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  beside  Egon,  and 
watched  the  solemn  procession  sweep  by.  What  a 
mockery!  What  a  sham!  The  incident  was  without 
precedent,  but  genuine  compassion  was  depicted  on  every 
face,  genuine  desire  to  please  a  dying  child  moved  every 
heart,  as  men  and  women  alike  paid  homage  to  the  child 
sovereign  who  had  not  another  day  to  live. 

Egon  sank  rapidly  after  that.  He  lapsed  into  uncon- 
sciousness. At  midnight,  he  regained  consciousness  for 
the  last  time.  He  asked  Ulrich  to  leave  him  alone  a  few 
minutes  with  "his  dear  Countess." 

"Schatzie,"  he  said,  in  his  sweet,  coaxing  way,  "I  want 
to  ask  this  of  you.  Cousin  Ulrich  would  have  laughed 
at  me.  After  I  am  dead,  and  when  they  place  me  in  that 
big,  cold  mausoleum,  I  want  you  to  please  have  Fido  put 
in  the  coffin  with  me,  at  my  feet.  He  always  slept  at  my 
feet,  and  when  he  died  last  summer,  Cousin  Ulrich  had 
him  mounted  for  me,  and  I  kept  him  in  my  room. 
I  was  afraid  he  would  be  lonely.  And  when  I  am  dead, 
I  want  Fido  with  me!  The  mausoleum  is  so  cold  and 

big!" 

He  died  at  two  in  the  morning.  Alice  and  Ulrich  were 
alone  with  him.  Gunther  was  waiting  in  the  room  be- 
yond, with  a  score  of  officers,  aides  and  ministers,  for  it 
is  usage  at  Court  to  salute  the  new  sovereign  the  moment 
the  old  is  dead. 

The  King  is  dead!     Long  live  the  King! 

For  the  second  time  in  a  year  the  kingdom  of  Hohen- 
hof-Hohe  changed  sovereigns. 

But  Alice  did  not  think  of  this,  as  she  knelt  at  the  dead 
child's  bedside,  and  prayed.  Ulrich,  seeing  her  on  her 
knees  at  prayer,  left  the  room  quietly,  believing  that  she 


THE    GREATER    JOY  435 

desired  to  be  alone  with  the  body  of  the  child  she  had 
loved  so  well. 

As  she  rose  from  her  knees,  she  saw  that  Ulrich  was 
gone.  She  kissed  Egon  upon  the  brow,  and  passed  into 
the  ante-chamber. 

The  minister  of  state,  Bartow- Freylingen,  was  making 
a  speech.  The  others,  five  deep,  were  standing  about 
Ulrich  in  a  semicircle,  heads  bowed  and  bared.  Bartow- 
Freylingen  was  saying  that  shocking  though  it  was  to 
lose  so  promising  a  child  as  the  young  King  had  been, 
it  was  only  fair  for  patriots  to  remind  themselves  that  the 
calamity,  as  far  as  their  country  was  concerned,  would 
have  been  infinitely  greater  if  they  had  lost  the  Prince 
Regent,  and  he  believed  he  was  only  voicing  the  earnest 
hope  of  his  countrymen  in  saying  that  he  hoped,  out  of 
fairness  to  his  country,  that  the  consciousness  of  his  own 
inestimable  value  to  the  State  would  help  mitigate  the  per- 
sonal grief  for  the  deceased  which  they  all  appreciated 
was  harassing  the  Prince  Regent,  now  their  King ! 

Their  King !    Ulrich  was  King ! 

The  realization  of  that  struck  and  gashed  through 
Alice's  heart  like  a  knife.  By  one  of  the  strange  fatuities 
of  fate,  which  sometimes  afflict  and  blind  us  when  our 
own  interests  are  most  at  stake,  the  political  effect  of 
Egon's  death  had  never  occurred  to  the  girl.  She  had 
seen  in  Egon  primarily  the  little  fatherless  and  motherless 
lad  whom  Ulrich  loved  so  deeply,  and  whom,  for  Ulrich's 
sake,  even  more  than  for  his  own,  she  also  loved.  Now, 
quite  suddenly,  the  political  importance  of  this  small 
child's  life,  and  the  importance  to  herself  as  well,  flashed 
upon  her. 

Ulrich  was  King !  He  had  loved  his  rank  before,  how 
much  more  would  he  prize  and  value  his  kingship? 
the  tdvihe  hope  now  to  ever  be  his  wife? 


436  THE    GREATER    JOY 

The  room  swam  before  her  eyes.  She  became  dizzy 
and  faint.  Her  knees  began  to  shake.  She  heard  no 
more  of  Bartow-Freylingen's  impromptu  speech.  Sick, 
giddy,  nauseated,  unperceived  by  Ulrich,  whose  back  was 
turned  to  her,  she  threw  herself  into  a  large  arm-chair, 
and,  unable  to  restrain  herself,  burst  into  a  passionate 
torrent  of  tears. 

Dead  silence  fell  upon  the  room.  Bartow-Freylingen's 
voice  ceased.  Only  the  sobbing  of  the  agonized  girl  con- 
tinued to  be  heard.  Suddenly  Alice  felt  an  arm  placed 
about  her  waist,  felt  her  head  lifted  from  the  hard  wooden 
back  of  the  chair,  felt  her  brow  rebound  upon  an  arm. 
And  now  she  heard  Ulrich  speaking: 

"Count  von  Bartow-Freylingen,  you  will  forgive  me  if 
I  ask  you  to  discontinue  your  very  kind  words  for  the 
present.    Here  is  someone  who  needs  me." 

He  lifted  her  out  of  the  chair,  and  took  her  into  his 
arms,  and  held  her  closely  to  his  heart,  as  closely  as  he 
could,  with  the  gesture  of  protection  that  he  had  em- 
ployed once  before. 

Slowly  the  assembled  Court  filed  from  the  room.  They 
had  the  decency,  men  and  women  both,  to  avert  their 
eyes,  to  not  more  than  glance  at  the  fair,  slim  girl  who 
was  crying  so  bitterly  in  the  arms  of  their  sovereign. 

When  they  were  alone,  he  led  her  to  a  divan.  He  took 
her  on  his  knee ;  he  soothed  her  with  tender  and  reverent 
kisses.  But  she  cried  on  and  on.  And  the  real  sting,  the 
supreme  bitterness  of  it  all  was  that  she  could  not  tell 
him  why  she  was  crying  so  inconsolably. 

As  her  tempest  of  tears  spent  itself,  hope,  which  she 
thought  dead  together  with  the  child  that  lay  in  the  ad- 
joining room,  came  back.  Hope  would  not  die.  Some 
day,  perhaps  some  day,  after  all,  he  would  ask  her  to  be 

his  wife.  Al        T' 

.g  that  she 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

They  had  named  the  beautiful  mansion  which  Alice 
now  occupied  "Seelenruh" — Peace  of  Soul — and  she  had 
furnished  one  of  the  brightest  and  most  cheerful  rooms 
in  the  house  for  Egon.  She  had  not  mentioned  this  to 
Ulrich,  meaning  to  surprise  him  as  well  as  the  child. 

After  Egon's  death,  she  had  the  room  closed,  and  left 
just  as  it  was.  She  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  enter- 
ing it  alone,  nor  could  she  bear  to  inflict  further  pain 
upon  Ulrich  by  asking  him  to  come  into  this  room  with 
her.  She  put  ofT  disposing  of  the  toys,  the  bed,  the  little 
dressing-gown,  and  night-dress  and  slippers  from  week 
to  week;  and  the  weeks  trailed  into  months  and  the 
months  into  years. 

One  day,  some  five  years  after  Egon's  death,  she  sum- 
moned courage  and  entered  the  room.  She  wanted  to 
send  the  toys  to  the  hospital.  But  on  entering  the  room 
a  sense  of  desolation  swept  over  her.  She  found  an  old, 
battered  Teddy  bear  of  which,  big  boy  though  he  was 
when  he  died,  Egon  had  been  very  fond.  A  hundred 
empty  little  sayings  of  the  dead  boy,  his  sweet,  winning 
ways,  his  bewitching  smile,  came  back  to  her  vividly. 
How  Ulrich  had  loved  Egon,  to  be  sure ! 

The  maid  came  panting  up  the  stairs  to  announce  that 
his  Majesty  was  below.     Alice  went  down  immediately. 

"You  have  been  crying,"  he  said. 

She  told  him  where  she  had  been,  and  he  insisted  on 
coming  up  to  the  room  with  her.  Together  they  sorted 
the  toys,  putting  aside  the  old  ones,  with  which  Egon  had 

437 


438  THE    GREATER    JOY 

played.  They  could  not  bear  to  think  of  these  toys  being 
thrown  about,  carelessly  handled  and  cast  aside  by  any 
other  child. 

But  as  they  sat  there  together,  immersed  in  these 
tender  and  melancholy  reflections,  they  were  both  per- 
fectly aware  that  it  was  not  Egon  primarily  of  whom 
they  were  thinking. 

The  march  of  time  is  inexorable,  and  these  two,  from 
being  the  most  passionate  lovers,  had  become  the  most 
devoted  and  loyal  mates.  They  no  longer  knew  the 
meaning  of  jealousy.  He  was  convinced  that  no  other 
man  could  ever  win  from  her  the  lightest,  fleeting 
thought;  she  realized  that  no  other  woman  could  ever 
usurp  her  place. 

And  yet  they  were  not  happy.  They  were  mates,  com- 
panions, friends,  but  every  year  made  them  both  feel  the 
absence  of  a  child,  or  children,  more  and  more  keenly. 
She,  with  her  strong,  healthy,  sane  instincts,  was  destined 
by  nature  to  bear  child  after  child  without  impairing  her 
vitality;  he,  with  his  quick,  swift,  passionate  brain,  was 
intended  to  be  not  merely  a  leader  among  men,  but  more 
particularly  a  leader  and  teacher  of  his  own  offspring. 
Each  knew  what  the  other  felt,  and  yet  both  remained 
silent ;  but  both  had  thought  and  thought  about  the  mat- 
ter and  sought  blindly  to  find  some  solution  of  the 
problem. 

"Alice,"  said  Ulrich  abruptly,  "I  have  something  to  tell 
you.  You  remember  the  chest  containing  old  family 
documents  which  I  asked  you  to  place  at  my  disposal?" 
She  nodded,  and  he  continued.  "I  had  all  these  papers 
sent  to  the  Herald's  College,  London,  in  the  hopes  of 
establishing  a  pedigree  for  you  that  would  lead  back  to 
Robert  the  Bruce  without  a  break." 

"And  did  they  succeed?" 


THE    GREATER    JOY  489 

"No,"  he  said  gloomily. 

The  girl  laughed. 

"Even  if  they  had  succeeded,  Ulrich  dear/'  she  said 
coaxingly,  "that  one  drop  of  blue  blood  would  have  been 
so  diluted  by  the  time  it  reached  my  veins  that  it  wouldn't 
have  constituted  me  a  fit  spouse  for  one  of  the  kings  of 
the  earth  at  any  rate.     Wouldn't  it?" 

Her  irony  jarred  him. 

"You  have  no  idea,  Alice,"  he  said  bitterly,  "what  a 
disappointment  this  has  been  to  me.  I  had  hatched  a 
plan,  a  diabolical  plan,  a  mischievous  plan,  a  pernicious 
plan,  for  enabling  us  to  marry." 

And  speaking  quickly,  without  elaboration,  he  told  her 
how  he  had  intended  having  the  rumor  spread  that  she 
was  the  illegitimate  offspring  of  one  of  the  royal  Haps- 
burgers,  and  he  had  hoped,  her  descent  from  the  Bruce 
being  established,  to  be  able  to  railroad  an  act  through 
the  Chamber  allowing  him  to  marry  her,  and  to  recog- 
nize her  as  his  queen.  But  the  Ministers,  it  seemed, 
would  not  permit  the  deception,  and  without  their  sup- 
port Ulrich  was  powerless  to  carry  out  his  scheme. 

Alice  looked  at  him  in  disapproving  silence. 

"Ulrich,"  she  said,  "why  won't  you  marry  me  mor- 
ganatically  ?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  why,  Ulrich?"  she  said.  "Because 
you  desire  children,  and  you  cannot  bear  the  thought  that 
your  legitimate  offspring  should  not  be  able  to  inherit  the 
crown." 

Again  he  shook  his  head  vigorously,  but  he  could  not 
look  her  in  the  eye. 

"Ulrich,"  she  said  in  a  soft,  subdued  voice,  "we  have 
both  avoided  this  topic.     Why  not  have  it  out  ?" 

She  was  kneeling  on  the  floor,  among  the  old  toys, 


440  THE    GREATER   JOY 

and  taking  up  a  broken,  shabby  little  wooden  horse,  she 
continued  playing  with  it,  her  arm  resting  on  his  knee. 

He  took  her  by  the  shoulders  and  turned  her  body 
about  so  she  faced  him. 

"Look  at  me,"  he  commanded  sternly. 

She  lifted  her  eyes  and  fearlessly  met  his. 

"Alice,"  he  said,  "we  two,  you  and  I,  have  made  a 
pretty  bad  mess  of  our  lives.  I'm  not  blaming  you.  It's 
my  fault,  as  I'm  well  aware  of,  and  we've  managed  to 
knock  a  good  deal  of  oblique  happiness  out  of  things  as 
they  are.  But  as  a  whole,  our  life  is  a  mess.  And  we 
are  jointly  responsible/' 

"I  didn't  know  yoti  felt  that  way  about  it,"  she  stam- 
mered. 

"Well,  I  do.  As  one  grows  older,  one  misses  certain 
things — certain  privileges — parenthood." 

She  sat  back  among  the  toys,  and  absent-mindedly  be- 
gan playing  with  some  tin  soldiers. 

"Do  you  know  what  is  going  to  happen  in  time, 
Ulrich  ?"  she  said.     "We  are  going  to  separate." 

"Nonsense!"  he  replied  viciously.  "I'll  never  consent 
to  a  separation.  Neither  would  you.  We  belong  to  each 
other." 

He  got  up  and  walked  to  the  window,  and  stood  staring 
out  upon  the  river.  She,  sitting  on  the  floor,  watched 
each  graceful  movement  of  the  tall,  loosely  hung,  aristo- 
cratic figure. 

She  had  some  conception  of  what  was  passing  in  his 
mind.  Alice  was  by  no  means  dull,  and  the  signs  of  the 
times  all  pointed  in  one  direction.  Sylvia,  who  had  come 
into  the  Grandduchy  at  last,  was  quite  frank  about  her 
desire  to  bring  about  an  alliance  between  Ulrich  and  her- 
self. Gunther  knew  it,  Alice  knew  it,  the  world  knew  it, 
and  although  Gunther  and  Alice  disapproved,  the  world 


THE    GREATER    JOY  441 

approved  and  desired  the  alliance  and  brought  pressure 
to  bear  upon  Ulrich  in  a  thousand  and  one  ways.  Pa- 
triotism flared  high;  the  possibility  of  the  union  was  a 
matter  of  daily  discussion  in  the  papers;  the  ministry 
upheld  and  abetted  the  press.  Everybody  longed  to  see 
the  royal  match  consummated.  Everybody  excepting 
Gunther,  Alice  and  Ulrich. 

Was  he  really  opposed  to  the  union  ?  Alice  had  asked 
herself  the  question  more  than  once,  and  now,  as  she  sat 
there,  still  on  the  floor,  watching  the  tall,  athletic  figure 
of  her  lover,  she  could  control  herself  no  longer. 

"Ulrich,"  she  said,"  do  you  wish  to  marry  Sylvia." 

"What  a  fool  question!"  he  said  angrily.  "Certainly 
not." 

"Then  why  this  vehemence?  Usually  you  content 
yourself  with  laughing  when  I  suggest  something  you 
have  no  notion  for." 

"I  don't  wish  it,"  he  iterated  doggedly. 

"Ulrich,  one  of  the  papers  the  other  day  suggested  that 
the  'royal  alliance  may  nevertheless  take  place,  if  the 
Countess  can  be  brought  to  lend  her  lover  for  a  little 
while/    Did  you  see  the  article  I  refer  to?" 

"Yes."  He  began  stamping  about  the  room.  "Bar- 
tow-Freylingen  had  the  impudence  to  approach  me  on 
the  subject.  I  very  nearly  disgraced  myself  by  throwing 
him  out  of  the  room." 

"What  was  the  suggestion?" 

"I  will  tell  you.  Before  I  tell,  however,  I  wish  you  to 
understand  that  not  for  one  moment  did  I  consent  to  con- 
sider so  infamous  a  suggestion." 

"I  understand  that,  Ulrich,  dear." 

"Bartow-Freylingen  came  to  me  and  brought  up  the 
question  of  the  marriage  once  more.  He  suggested  that 
the  Grand-duchess  would  have  no  objection  whatever  to 


442  THE    GREATER    JOY 

you  and  myself  continuing  on  the  present  footing.  He 
was  even  authorized  to  say,  he  gave  me  to  understand, 
that  the  Grandduchess  would  leave  me  entirely  free,  the 
only  proviso  being,  of  course,  that  we  would  have  to  se- 
cure the  succession.  That  end  being  attained,  she  would 
not  expect  to  see  me  at  Hohenlof-Lohe,  at  all — unless  I 
chose.  He  suggested  that  I  approach  you  on  the  subject. 
I  declined,  of  course.  He  begged  me  to  consider  the 
good  of  the  country — the  kingdom  and  the  duchy  united 
once  more,  and  all  the  rest  of  that  twaddle.  I  lost  my 
temper,  and  pretty  nearly  kicked  him  out." 

"Ulrich,  I  want  you  to  promise  me  one  thing.  The 
time  may  come  when  you  desire  to  marry  Sylvia ;  if  so,  I 
want  you  to  do  me  the  justice  of  telling  me  so." 

"I  shall  never  wish  to  marry  her,"  he  said  once  more. 

Alice  did  not  believe  him.  She  knew  she  had  his  love, 
she  knew  that  no  other  woman  would  ever  be  able  to  take 
her  place  in  Ulrich's  heart,  but  she  knew  that  pitted 
against  his  love  for  her  on  the  one  side  were  his  desire 
for  fatherhood  and  his  ambition  on  the  other. 

Poor  love!  Could  love  hold  her  own  against  her  two 
rivals?  Day  after  day  the  pressure  upon  Ulrich  was 
continued.  The  entire  country  seemed  to  be  in  an  up- 
roar. King  Ulrich  was  their  idol.  He  had  brought 
them  prosperity ;  agriculture  and  industry  and  commerce 
had  attained  an  undreamed-of  height  under  his  reign ;  it 
was  the  boast  of  Hohenhof-Hohe  that  no  man  went  to 
bed  supperless  and  that  no  child  went  unschooled.  Why 
then,  should  he,  who  had  done  so  much  to  secure  his 
subjects'  happiness,  refuse  to  consummate  this  alliance 
which  would  unite  the  two  states  into  one  and  secure  the 
succession  ? 

Ulrich  was  visibly  harassed.  He  rarely  mentioned  the 
subject  to  Alice,  but  one  day,  when  he  came  in  for  sup- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  443 

per,  he  seemed  entirely  unstrung.  She  could  not  get  him 
to  talk  at  first,  but  suddenly  he  said : 

"Alice,  why  didn't  you  have  the  courage  to  make  me 
marry  you  five  years  ago  ?" 

She  replied  truthfully: 

"Because  I  feared  that  you  would  reproach  me  for  it 
one  day ;  and  now  you  are  reproaching  me  for  not  doing 
it." 

"Forgive  me,  dear.  I  am  a  brute."  He  kissed  her 
hands  passionately,  but  she  knew  that  the  crisis  was 
drawing  nearer,  and  must  ultimately  be  faced  and  dealt 
with. 

Gunther  called  on  her  a  few  days  after  this.  She  had 
not  seen  him  for  a  month. 

"I  have  neglected  you  shamefully,"  he  said  apolo- 
getically. "What  selfish  creatures  we  men  are!  I 
haven't  been  near  you  for  a  month,  and  now  I  come  to 
worry  you  with  my  troubles." 

"What's  wrong,  Gunther?" 

"Sylvia." 

Alice's  heart  began  to  beat  more  rapidly.  Fear  pulled 
at  her  heart-strings. 

"Is  she — are  they "  she  asked  limply. 

"Not  yet.  But  it's  coming,  Alice,  it's  sure  as  death. 
And  to  think  I  have  loved  that  woman  all  these  years ! 
Ulrich  and  she — they  are  a  team.  She's  treated  me  just 
as  badly  as  he  has  treated  you." 

"I  do  not  consider  that  Ulrich  has  treated  me  at  all 
badly,"  the  girl  interposed. 

"Oh,  of  course,  it's  just  like  a  woman  to  take  the  part 
of  the  man  who  has  behaved  toward  her  like  a  brute. 
Why  doesn't  he  marry  you?  You're  the  best  and  the 
sweetest  and  the  truest  of  women,  and  what  has  he  made 
of  you  ?    Oh,  it  makes  me  sick,  it  makes  me  sick !"  cried 


444  THE    GREATER    JOY 

poor  Gunther.  Then  fie  added  hastily,  "It's  not  on  ac- 
count of  my  wanting  the  crown.  I  hope  you  know  that. 
I  wanted  the  crown  only  because  I  knew  it  would  bring; 
me  Sylvia,  and  now  that  I  don't  want  her  any  longer,  the 
devil  take  the  crown  and  the  kingdom,  too,  for  all  I  care." 

Alice,  sorry  though  she  felt  for  Gunther,  could  barely 
suppress  a  smile. 

"Gunther,  dear,"  she  said,  patting  the  young  fellow's 
cheek,  as  she  would  have  patted  the  cheek  of  a  child, 
"tell  me,  if  you  can  manage  to  be  coherent,  just  what  has 
happened." 

It  seemed  that  at  Gunther's  request  Sylvia  had  invited 
Princess  Mary  to  Hohenhof-Lohe  to  spend  a  month  with 
her.  Gunther  had  intended  bringing  Mary  to  Hohen  to 
meet  Alice,  but  when  he  suggested  doing  so,  Mary  had 
refused  to  come. 

"Do  you  know,  Alice,  Sylvia  had  poisoned  her  mind 
against  you.  I  tell  you  I'm  sick  of  our  entire  family — 
we're  a  rotten  lot,  we  von  Dettes." 

"Sylvia  had  told  her  the  truth,  I  suppose,"  she  sug- 
gested. 

"What  business  had  she  to  tell  tales?  Everybody  who 
knows  you  loves  and  respects  you,"  cried  Gunther,  "but 
oh,  I  cannot  tell  you  how  it  made  me  feel,  for  you.  And 
after  all  Sylvia's  professions  of  friendship  and  loyalty !" 

"Gunther,  dear,"  said  Alice,  "it  is  very  sweet  of  you  to 
feel  all  this  so  keenly  for  me.  But  surely  something  else 
happened.     You  are  not  so  bitter  only  on  my  account." 

"Meaning  that  I  am  selfish,  which  I  suppose  is  quite 
true." 

Alice  noticed  that  he  felt  some  reluctance  in  being  frank 
with  her.  It  was  from  disjointed  remarks  and  one  or 
two  little  episodes  which  he  related  that  the  girl  gathered 
the  course  events   had  taken.     Sylvia,  it  seemed,   had 


THE    GREATER    JOY  445 

been  very  kind  and  gracious  to  her  little  English  cousin 
the  first  week,  but  when  Gunther  arrived  on  the  scene, 
she  had  expected  to  monopolize  his  attentions  as  usual. 
The  young  aide  thought  it  only  fair  that  he  should  try  to 
make  Mary's  stay  as  happy  as  possible,  so  he  golfed  and 
rowed  and  played  tennis  with  her,  to  "amuse  the  little 
thing."  Sylvia  detested  physical  exertion  of  any  kind. 
Friction  of  some  sort  was  unavoidable,  there  were  un- 
pleasant words — stinging  remarks  made  to  Mary  by 
Sylvia,  tears  on  Mary's  part.  "All  in  all,"  Gunther  con- 
cluded dryly,  "Mary  had  an  uncommonly  pleasant  visit." 
He  paused  a  moment,  then  went  on.  "What  I  would  like 
to  know,  Alice,  is  why  won't  Sylvia  marry  me?  If  she 
loves  me,  why  should  ambition  for  a  second  crown  deter 
her  from  marrying  me  ?  Great  Scott !  I've  been  tied  to 
her  apron-strings  long  enough.     I'm  tired  of  it." 

Her  chin  resting  on  her  hand,  Alice  gravely  regarded 
the  young  man.     Presently  he  resumed  his  lamentations. 

"Sylvia  is  going  to  succeed  in  getting  Ulrich  to  marry 
her." 

"Yes,  I  think  she  is,"  she  said  calmly. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  he  cried. 
"Heavens  and  earth,  you're  not  going  to  release  him,  are 
you?  By  George,  it  would  be  the  meanest,  scurviest 
trick  I  ever  heard  of  if  Ulrich  were  to  leave  you  after  all 
these  years." 

"If  you  please,  Gunther,  I  prefer  not  to  discuss  Ulrich, 
even  with  you." 

"Oh,  very  well." 

He  was  not  offended ;  he  stood  looking  down  at  Alice 
curiously.  Suddenly  he  blurted  out,  in  the  boyish  way 
lie  had : 

"Ulrich's  a  fool  as  well  as  a  scamp  if  he  gives  you  up 
to  marry  Sylvia.     I've  been  in  love  with  Sylvia  for  ten 


446  THE    GREATER    JOY 

years,  but  I  wouldn't  marry  her  now  that  I  realize  what 
a  calculating,  selfish,  heartless  little  beast  she  is  for  all 
the  kingdoms  of  the  world." 

Alice  laughed  as  she  said: 

"Gunther,  if  Sylvia  were  to  write  you  this  one  little 
line,  'I  will  consent  to  be  your  wife,'  you'd  hitch  your 
three  racing  motors  to  the  fastest  express  train  in  the 
hopes  of  making  better  time  in  getting  to  her." 

"Perhaps  I  would,"  he  admitted.  "Good-bye,  Alice. 
I'll  drop  in  to-morrow,  if  I  may."  He  kissed  her  hand, 
made  her  one  of  his  magnificent  bows,  and  was  gone. 

That  afternoon  she  had  another  visitor.  Bartow- 
Freylingen  called,  and  she  and  he  were  closeted  for  over 
half  an  hour.  She  had  expected  this  visit  for  days ;  she 
knew  it  was  inevitable,  and  she  knew  furthermore  that 
when  he  called  it  would  be  to  sound  the  death-knell  of  her 
love. 

Ulrich  came  an  hour  after  Bartow-Freylingen  had 
left. 

She  could  not  guess  from  his  face  whether  he  knew 
that  his  Minister  of  State  had  called  or  not.  There  was 
much  about  statecraft  that  eluded  Alice,  and  the  diplom- 
acy of  Bartow-Freylingen  was  much  too  fine  to  be  easily 
comprehended.  She  had  been  unable  to  gather  any  pre- 
cise impression  from  her  interview  with  the  great  diplo- 
mat as  to  Ulrich's  real  attitude  in  the  matter.  The  Min- 
ister had  made  his  appeal  to  her  on  the  ground  of  politics 
only,  urging  her  to  offer  to  release  Ulrich,  as  the  well- 
known  chivalry  of  the  King  forbade  his  making  the  sug- 
gestion. In  some  subtle  way  he  had  contrived  to  give 
her  the  impression  that  the  King,  although  no  one  en- 
joyed his  confidence  in  the  matter,  would  heartily  wel- 
come such  a  request  for  a  release  on  personal  grounds  as 
well  as  for  state  reasons. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  447 

>  >' 

"Ulrich,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  he  was  seated,  "I  want 
to  have  a  long  talk  with  you,  dear." 

"About  what?" 

"About  ourselves,  Ulrich.  It  must  have  occurred  to 
you  that  we  cannot  go  on  indefinitely  on  our  present  foot- 
ing.    I  want  to  offer  to  release  you,  Ulrich." 

"What  makes  you  think  that  I  desire  to  be  released, 
Alice?" 

"Many  things.  For  myself  also,  I  think,  a  separation 
would  be  better.  Perhaps,  instead  of  offering  to  release 
you,  I  should  have  asked  you  to  release  me." 

"I  confess,  this  strikes  me  as  being  rather  sudden." 

"No,  Ulrich,  it  is  not  sudden  at  all.  We  have  both 
realized  for  over  a  year,  although  we  have  never  spoken 
of  it,  that  a  separation  would  ultimately  be  inevitable." 

"Why  should  it  be?" 

"Ulrich,"  she  said,  and  a  tremor  vibrated  in  her  voice, 
"neither  of  us  is  satisfied  with  the  present  state  of  affairs. 
We  became  lovers  because,  in  the  first  place,  we  were 
ideally  suited  to  each  other,  and  in  the  second  place  we 
met  at  the  psychological  moment.  If  I  had  been  a  little 
older,  you  would  not  have  dazzled  me  to  the  extent  of 
paralyzing  my  sense  of  right  and  wrong,  as  you  did,  nor 
would  I  have  inspired  you  with  that  desire  to  mould  me 
and  re-shape  me  and  make  me,  body  and  soul,  into  pre- 
cisely that  which  you  wanted  me  to  be.  Love  was  the 
one  significant,  potent  fact  in  life.  Everything  else 
dwindled  away  before  the  majesty  of  love.  But  we 
passed  the  spring-time  of  youth.  We  love  each  other 
more  deeply  than  we  did  then,  but  those  moments  of 
ecstacy  can  never  return.  There  are  persons  of  both 
sexes  who,  when  the  spring-time  of  love  recedes,  seek  to 
revive  that  spring-time  with  another  partner.  Both  you 
and  I  are  too  sane  to  attempt  anything  of  that  sort.     We 


US  THE    GREATER    JOY 

realize  the  seriousness  of  life,  and  that  love  is  but  the  be- 
ginning, and  can  never  be  the  end.  We  have  lost  the 
spring-time  of  love,  but  we  have  the  gold  and  purple  of 
summer  before  us.  After  the  blossom  the  fruit.  We 
cannot  enjoy  our  summer — you  and  I — because  for  us 
there  can  be  no  fruition.  We  are  compelled,  because  of 
our  peculiar  situation,  to  thwart  Nature,  to  destroy,  in- 
stead of  creating. 

"That  is  why  we  are  not  happy.  It  is  not  because  we 
do  not  love  each  other,  but  because  loving  each  other  as 
tenderly  as  we  do,  we  both  feel  the  immorality  and  futility 
of  our  love.', 

"I  have  not  dared  to  face  the  situation  as  clearly  as  you 
are  doing,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  Ulrich,"  she  continued,  speaking  more  rapidly 
and  more  passionately  than  before,  "can  you  imagine,  I 
wonder,  just  how  I  have  longed  for  a  child,  your  child? 
And  desiring  maternity  so  passionately,  have  you  any  no- 
tion how  barbarously,  fiendishly  cruel  it  was  to  be  forced 
to  avoid  motherhood,  to  be  compelled  to  employ  incessant 
vigilance  in  the  thwarting  of  Nature's  sanest  and  truest 
instinct  V 

She  had  not  meant  to  plead  for  herself,  but  the  pain 
she  had  endured  almost  in  silence  for  years  had  over- 
flowed. She  had  merely  wished  to  make  him  believe 
that  she  was  perfectly  willing  to  agree  to  a  separation, 
but  she  had  gone  too  far.  She  had  aroused  in  him  a  sus- 
picion that  she  desired  a  separation  on  her  own  account. 

He  became  very  pale.  He  sat  looking  at  her  without 
speaking.  She  was  in  her  prime.  The  pale,  virginal 
girl  had  matured  into  a  woman  of  radiant  beauty  and 
womanliness.  Her  manner  had  lost  none  of  its  sincerity 
and  sparkle,  which  it  had  pleased  him  to  think  were 
American  traits,  and  she  had  acquired  the  dignified  ele- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  449 

gance  which  marks  the  woman  of  the  world.  She  had  a 
charm  all  her  own,  and  although  she  had  never  told  him, 
he  knew  that  more  than  one  man  of  wealth  and  position 
had  offered  her  marriage. 

With  this  in  mind,  he  said  finally : 

"Alice,  do  I  understand  that  you  wish  to  be  released  so 
you  can  marry,  or  that  you  wish  to  release  me  so  that  I 
may  marry  ?" 

"I  desire  a  separation  on  your  account  principally,"  she 
replied,  "but  I  desire  it  on  my  account  also." 

"You  are  evading  my  question.  You  have  never  told 
me,  but  I  am  sure  that  Grand-duke  Boris  wants  you  to  be 
his  wife.     Am  I  right?" 

"Three  times  Boris  has  asked  me  to  marry  him,  Ulrich. 
He  told  me  frankly  the  first  time  he  proposed  that  he 
came  to  Hohen  with  the  intention  of  'stealing  me  away' 
from  you.  He  wanted  me  to  live  with  him.  He  ended 
by  asking  me  to  marry  him." 

She  did  not  tell  her  lover  all  she  knew  in  connection 
with  the  Boris  affair.  The  Grandduke  had  told  her  that 
Sylvia  had  sent  him  Alice's  picture,  and  had  invited  him 
to  Hohen  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  about  an  estrange- 
ment between  Ulrich  and  herself.  He  had  thought  it 
good  sport,  and  had  taken  Sylvia's  "dare."  But  on 
meeting  Alice,  he  had  abandoned  the  "sport,"  and  had 
asked  her  to  be  his  wife.  This  was  only  one  of  Sylvia's 
desperate  moves  to  capture  Hohenhof-Hohe. 

Ulrich  looked  at  her  fixedly.     Slowly  he  asked: 

"Do  you  wish  to  marry  Boris?" 

"I  have  never  thought  about  it  seriously.  If  it  makes 
this  step  easier  for  you,  dear,  I  will  promise  you  not  to 
marry  Boris  or  any  other  man." 

He  took  her  hand  in  his. 

"Alice,"  he  said  tenderly,  "I  quite  deserve  your  looking 


450  THE    GREATER    JOY 

upon  me  as  a  monument  of  selfishness.  I  would  certainly 
not  exact  such  a  promise.  On  the  contrary,  it  would 
make  a  separation  very  much  easier  for  me,  if  I  thought 
that  you  were  looking  forward  to  a  future  similar  to 
mine." 

She  said  nothing.  All  the  blood  in  her  body  seemed 
to  be  rushing  to  her  heart.  She  could  see  from  Ulrich's 
manner  that  he  welcomed  the  idea  of  a  separation,  and 
he  was  asking  her  quite  calmly  to  marry  another  man. 
Great  God!  Had  Ulrich  any  notion  of  just  how  she 
loved  him? 

She  controlled  herself  with  difficulty.  She  wanted  to 
give  him  pleasure,  and  if  it  made  it  easier  for  him  to 
think  she  desired  marriage  with  another  man,  she  would 
pretend  to  be  at  least  not  averse  to  such  a  plan. 

"Alice,"  he  said  gently,  "answer  me." 

"I  cannot  promise  you  that  I  will  marry  Boris." 

He  urged  insistently. 

She  walked  across  the  room,  and,  to  steady  her  nerves, 
placed  her  burning  hands  on  the  cold  alabaster  of  the 
mantel-piece.  She  felt  her  self-possession  going,  and 
she  had  a  horror  of  fainting  or  of  beginning  to  cry. 
When  she  turned  to  answer  Ulrich  a  moment  later,  her 
voice  was  tranquil. 

"If  we  decide  upon  a  separation,  Alice,  will  you  allow 
me  to  pension  you  ?" 

"It  will  not  be  necessary.  I  have  put  aside  a  sum  of 
money  every  year,  which  the  banker,  Seligmann,  in- 
vested for  me  in  state  bonds — and  the  income  of  these 
bonds  I  devoted  to  charitable  purposes,  heretofore.  The 
income  amounts  to  about  three  thousand  dollars  annually. 
That  will  amply  suffice  for  my  needs,  and  I  love  you  far 
too  deeply,  Ulrich,  to  feel  that  I  am  placing  myself  under 
an  improper  obligation  to  you  in  retaining  that  money." 


THE    GREATER    JOY  451 

"Thank  you,  Alice,"  he  said  simply. 

She  had  no  intention  of  using  any  portion  of  that 
money  for  herself.  She  would  give  ic  away  to  charities, 
as  she  had  done  before,  but  she  knew  that  he  would  never 
consent  to  a  separation  unless  he  believed  her  comfortable*. 

"Ulrich,"  she  said  suddenly,  after  a  long  pause,  "if  you 
decide  upon  a  separation,  I  wish  you  would  make  no 
further  effort  to  see  me.  Let  this  be  the  last  time  we 
meet.     It  will  make  things  easier  for  both  of  us." 

"Very  well." 

His  face  was  ghastly.  She  wondered  vaguely  if  she 
was  as  pale  as  he.  She  knew,  as  she  looked  upon  the 
tortured  expression  of  his  face,  that  his  decision  had  been 
reached  even  then. 

"Alice,  before  I  go,  may  I  kiss  you  ?" 

"I  would  rather  you  didn't,  Ulrich." 

"Very  well." 

At  the  door  he  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

"Good-bye,  Alice,"  he  said  in  a  choking  voice. 

"Good-bye,  Ulrich." 

She  dared  not  look  at  him,  for  her  eyes  were  blinded 
with  tears.  She  checked  them,  and  forced  back  the  sobs 
that  were  shaking  her,  until  she  knew  he  was  well  out 
of  the  house.  Then  she  collapsed  upon  the  floor,  and 
buried  her  face  upon  the  divan  where  he  had  been  but  a 
minute  before,  and  cried  as  if  her  heart  were  breaking. 

And  it  was. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

The  excitement  which  the  news  of  the  engagement  of 
the  King  and  the  Grandduchess  occasioned  was  inde- 
scribable. The  streets  were  gay  with  bunting,  students 
and  children  and  even  staid  old  citizens  trailed  through 
the  streets  laughing  and  joking  and  singing.  The  entire 
country  seemed  to  have  gone  mad  with  joy. 

Alice  shut  herself  up  in  her  house,  but  although  the 
grounds  were  so  large  that  the  tumult  of  the  celebrations 
and  festivities  could  not  reach  her,  she  could  not  escape 
from  the  scenes  of  hilarity  upon  the  river.  The  town 
was  taking  a  holiday,  and  as  the  weather  was  perfect, 
crowds  of  small  river  craft  sailed  and  rowed  and  steamed 
up  and  down-stream,  past  "Seelenruh"  filled  with  gaily 
attired  and  happy  merry-makers. 

"Seelenruh !"  What  irony !  Alice  expected  to  feel  some 
regret  at  leaving  the  beautiful  mansion  over  which  she 
had  ruled  as  mistress  for  five  years;  she  found  that  she 
was  beginning  to  hate  and  loathe  it.  She  refused  to  see 
all  who  called,  even  Gunther,  but  he  sent  Estelle  to  tell 
her  mistress  that  he  would  not  leave  Hohen  without  bid- 
ding her  adieu.     So  Alice  consented  to  see  him. 

She  had  expected  to  hear  the  young  man  break  into 
a  wild  tirade  against  Sylvia,  but  for  once  she  was  so 
filled  with  her  own  misery,  that  she  had  no  sympathy  left 
for  anyone.  Her  powers  of  endurance  were  almost 
broken.  To  her  surprise,  she  found  Gunther  composed 
and  quiet.     He  did  not  kiss  her  hand  as  usual,  but  with 

452 


THE    GREATER    JOY  453 

a  brotherly  gesture  of  affection,  stooped  over  her  and 
k'ssed  her  cheek. 

"Poor  little  girl,"  he  said,  "poor  little  girl !" 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  pity  me,  Gunther,"  she  said 
curtly. 

He  sat  down  beside  her.  She  became  unreasonably 
angry  because  he  had  shown  her  sympathy.  She  didn't 
want  his  or  anybody's  pity,  but  when  she  lifted  her  eyes 
to  his  face  and  saw  the  tender  pity  in  his  loyal,  honest 
eyes,  her  pride  melted  away,  and  she  wept  bitterly.  She 
felt  her  shoulder  encircled  by  a  strong  young  arm,  and 
her  head  pressed  against  a  firm  young  shoulder. 

"Cry  away,  little  cousin,  it  will  do  you  good." 

And  cry  she  did  for  ten  minutes  or  more.  Then  Gun- 
ther dried  her  tears,  and  chafed  her  hands,  and  kissed 
her  once  more,  and  behaved  generally  as  a  big,  kind, 
affectionate  brother  might  have  done. 

"It's  quite  as  hard  on  you,  Gunther,"  she  said 
finally. 

"No,  it's  not.  You  didn't  believe  me  the  other  day 
fvhen  I  told  you  I  was  through  with  Sylvia.  It's  bad 
enough  for  a  chap  to  want  something  for  years  and  years 
that  he  cannot  have,  but  it's  infinitely  worse  to  find  quite 
suddenly  that  you  no  longer  want  what  you  have  been 
wanting  so  long,  and  that  you  are  a  bally  idiot  for  ever 
having  wanted  it." 

"Poor  old  Gunther!" 

"Ulrich  is  a  fool.  He  will  ^bitterly  regret  what  he  is 
doing  when  it  is  too  late.  I  am  going  to  England. 
There's  nothing  I  want  in  this  wide  world,  I  find,  but 
perhaps  I  can  forget  the  aching  void  which  takes  the 
place  of  what  was  once  my  heart,  in  trying  to  amuse 
little  Mary.  I  shall  play  tennis  and  golf  and  croquet  with 
her,  and  take  her  motoring  and  sing  her  the  Studenten- 


THE    GREATER    JOY 


lieder,  which  she  tells  me  she  loves  to  hear  me  sing,  and 
perhaps  that  will  help  me  forget  my  troubles." 

"What  a  brick  you  are,  Gunther!" 

And  so  they  parted. 

Alice  remained  in  "Seelenruh"  another  week.  She 
had  written  to  Ulrich  to  send  someone  to  whom  she  could 
turn  over  the  keys,  but  he  wrote  back,  asking  her  to  re- 
main in  the  place  as  long  as  she  pleased;  but  she  was 
anxious  to  get  away.  Her  personal  possessions  were 
packed ;  the  rooms  were  dismantled,  the  furniture  swathed 
in  Holland  covers,  the  valuable  oil  paintings  covered  with 
netting,  the  beautiful  gold  and  silver  plate  housed  in  the 
enormous  safe;  everything  was  arranged  as  for  a  long, 
long  absence.  She  supposed  Ulrich  would  dispose  of  the 
furniture,  and  the  silver  and  the  bric-a-brac  by  private 
sale.  She  was  certain  he  would  never  enter  the  house 
again. 

And  still  she  stayed  on.  A  wild  hope  kept  her  there. 
From  day  to  day  she  hoped  that  a  miracle  would  happen 
which  would  send  Ulrich  back  to  her.  She  could  not  be- 
lieve that  everything  was  at  an  end  between  them,  that 
he  would  be  able  to  erase  her  so  effectually  out  of  his 
life. 

Finally  she  could  bear  the  loneliness  of  the  quiet,  dis- 
mantled house  no  longer.  She  decided  quite  suddenly 
one  morning  to  leave  for  Berlin.  She  telegraphed  to  the 
Adlon,  bade  Estelle  finish  packing,  and  left  with  her  maid 
by  the  noon  train.  As  she  stepped  into  the  magnificent 
automobile,  which  she  was  to  use  for  the  last  time,  a  sen- 
sation of  despair  came  over  her.  Not  once  did  she  glance 
back  at  the  exquisite  mansion  which  she  was  leaving,  nor 
at  the  noble  old  trees  which  she  had  loved  so  well,  at  the 
sweeping  lawns  where  she  had  walked  so  often  with 
Ulrich  in  summer  evenings. 


THE    GREATER   JOY  455 

That  chapter  of  her  life  was  closed — forever. 

The  day  after  she  left  the  servants  were  startled  by 
seeing  the  tall,  commanding  figure  they  knew  so  well 
marching  up  the  stairs  and  into  the  hall. 

"Announce  me  to  the  Countess." 

"The  Countess  left  for  Berlin  yesterday,  your  Majesty." 

"At  what  hotel  is  she  stopping  ?" 

They  told  him. 

He  did  not  leave,  but  strode  past  the  servants,  up  the 
stairs  and  into  the  little  boudoir  which  he  had  taken  such 
joy  in  furnishing  for  her  five  years  before.  So  wild  and 
haggard  was  his  face,  that  the  servants,  huddled  together 
in  the  large  hall,  waited  anxiously  for  they  knew  not 
what —  the  report  of  a  pistol  perhaps. 

But  Ulrich  had  no  intention  of  committing  suicide. 
He  stalked  up  and  down  the  little  room,  and  half  uncon- 
scious of  what  he  was  doing,  opened  her  desk.  It  was 
empty.  He  opened  her  work-table.  A  forgotten  bit  of 
needlework  which  she  had  overlooked  in  the  hurry  of 
leaving,  remained.  He  had  frequently  seen  her  at  work 
on  it,  and  he  stared  at  it  stupidly,  not  able  to  comprehend 
that  she  would  never  finish  it,  that  her  hand  had  touched 
and  handled  the  wrinkled  bit  of  linen  for  the  last  time. 

He  flung  the  embroidery  away  from  him,  and  resumed 
pacing  the  floor. 

"My  God !"  he  cried  suddenly,  "I  cannot  give  her  up,  I 
cannot." 

He  halted  at  the  window-seat,  where,  stretched  at  full 
length,  half  asleep  over  some  book,  she  had  waited  for 
him  so  often  until  long  after  midnight  when  he  had  been 
detained.  The  pillows  lay  as  she  had  left  them.  The  im- 
pression her  head  and  shoulders  had  made  was  still 
visible.  A  tortoise  shell  hairpin  lay  in  a  crease  of  the 
pillow. 


456  THE    GREATER    JOY 

He  took  it  up  tenderly,  and  suddenly  he  dropped  on  his 
knees  and  buried  his  face  in  the  pillows  against  which  her 
body  had  rested.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  warm,  sweet 
perfume  of  her  skin  and  hair  still  clung  to  the  cushion. 
He  moaned.  He  pressed  the  cushion  against  his  face 
until  he  was  almost  smothered.  Then  he  threw  it  away 
from  him  and  began  beating  his  hands  upon  the  walls, 
upon  the  floor,  against  the  seat. 

"I  cannot  give  her  up,  I  cannot !"  he  groaned. 

Presently  he  began  weeping.  It  was  years  since  he 
had  cried — not  since  Egon's  death — but  those  tears  had 
been  tender  and  sweet  compared  to  the  terrible  tempest 
of  tears  that  seemed  now  to  rend  his  soul.  He  was 
frantic  with  the  anguish  of  it  all. 

When  he  finally  stumbled  to  his  feet,  there  had  come 
to  him,  without  any  volition  of  his  own,  a  realization  of 
what  his  decision  must  be.  There  was  one  way  only, 
and  he  meant  to  take  it. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

Alice  had  intended  remaining  in  Berlin  only  one  or  two 
days,  but  she  happened  to  meet  Sally,  and  in  her  new 
terror  of  being  alone,  she  was  heartily  glad  of  her  old 
friend's  company.     So  she  remained  longer. 

The  week  brought  her  three  important  letters,  from 
the  Grandduke,  from  Bouchere,  and  from  von  Garde,  and 
each  of  these  three  letters  contained  an  offer  of  marriage. 
The  Frenchman's  was  elegant  and  crisp,  the  Russian's 
almost  Oriental  in  its  deliberate  display  of  passion,  and 
she  read  each  of  these  two  letters  twice.  But  von 
Garde's  she  read  many  times.  It  was  tender,  reverential, 
solicitous,  and  the  very  essence  of  the  man  seemed  to  be 
wafted  from  his  letter. 

Alice  had  not  heard  directly  from  him  since  that  painful 
interview  following  the  fateful  ball,  and  it  touched  her 
deeply  to  think  that  he  still  loved  her  sufficiently  to  care 
to  marry  her.  She  asked  herself  whether  it  would  not 
be  possible  to  find  some  semblance  of  happiness  in  trying 
to  secure  his.  In  spite  of  the  bitter  recollections  which 
clung  to  him,  perhaps  because  of  them,  she  felt  a  deep- 
rooted  fondness  for  him.  It  was  out  of  the  question  that 
she  would  ever  love  him,  or  any  other  man,  but  she  won- 
dered whether  she  would  not  be  happier  in  accepting  ob- 
ligations toward  some  human  being  than  by  drifting 
alone  down  the  stream  of  life. 

She  thought  the  matter  over  for  three  days,  and  then 
wrote  him,  telling  him  that  if  he  was  satisfied  to  marry 
her  knowing  that  she  could  not  give  him  any  love,  only 

457 


458  THE    GREATER   JOY 

whole-hearted  and  sincere  affection  and  respect,  she  was 
willing  that  he  should  do  so. 

But  after  she  had  written  the  letter,  memories  of  Ulrich 
came  to  harass  her,  and  all  her  love,  her  passion  and  her 
desire  for  Ulrich  came  rushing  back  upon  her.  She  tore 
the  letter  she  had  written  to  von  Garde,  and  flung  it  into 
the  paper-basket,  and  then,  like  a  poor,  caged  thing,  she 
walked  around  and  around  the  room. 

Why  should  she  be  compelled  to  give  up  Ulrich  ?  She 
had  overestimated  her  strength.  Even  if  the  marriage 
were  unavoidable,  that  was  really  no  reason  why  he  and 
she  should  separate.  What  were  considerations  of  honor, 
of  self-respect,  of  anything  in  the  wide  world  compared 
to  such  love  as  theirs  ?  She  would  write  Ulrich  the  next 
day.  No,  she  would  return  to  Hohen  that  very  night. 
She  would  go  to  him,  and  say,  "Ulrich,  I  cannot  live 
without  you  any  more  than  you  can  live  without  me.  I 
must  hear  your  voice,  be  near  you,  see  you.  Otherwise 
I  shall  go  insane.  Marry  Sylvia.  Accept  her  terms. 
Be  her  husband  for  three  months,  for  six  months,  for  a 
year — until  the  succession  is  secured — and  then  come 
back  to  me." 

With  a  start,  she  pulled  up  before  the  mirror.  She 
looked  at  her  image  as  she  would  have  looked  at  the  face 
of  a  stranger.     And  sanity  returned. 

"Heavens  and  earth!"  she  muttered  aloud,  "have  I 
sunk  as  low  as  that?" 

She  took  a  sheet  of  writing  paper  from  her  desk,  and 
wrote  von  Garde,  thanking  him  for  his  faith  in  her,  and 
assuring  him  that  it  added  to  her  own  distress  to  know 
she  must  give  him  this  new  pain  by  rejecting  his  offer. 

Ringing  for  the  maid,  and  without  looking,  she  pointed 
to  the  letter  and  told  her  to  mail  it.  But  Estelle  was  not 
listening.     She  seemed  strangely  excited. 


THE    GREATER    JOY  459 

"Oh,  Madame!"  she  cried,  "Madame " 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  Alice. 

"The  King  is  here,  Madame !" 

Ulrich  had  already  entered  the  room.  The  maid  fled 
through  the  open  door.  He  turned  and  closed  the  door 
behind  her. 

Pale  and  trembling  Alice  stood  and  stared  at  him.  The 
expression  on  her  face  was  the  expression  of  a  woman 
who  has  seen  a  ghost. 

He  put  down  his  high  silk  hat  on  a  chair,  threw  down 
his  gloves,  and  took  off  his  overcoat.  Then  he  faced  her, 
standing  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table. 

Neither  had  spoken  so  far. 

"Alice/'  he  said,  "we  have  been  very  foolish  and  very 
wicked,  both  of  us,  you  as  well  as  myself.  We  have  be- 
lieved that  we  could  fly  in  the  face  of  Providence,  and 
tear  out  of  our  hearts  a  love  such  as  is  rarely  given  to 
man  and  woman  to  feel  for  each  other.  My  chief  sins 
have  been  selfishness,  ambition,  insincerity.  Your  one 
sin  has  been  damnable  pride.  We've  made  a  sorry  mess 
of  things  so  far.  Now  we  are  going  to  take  the  right 
road,  the  only  road  that  can  bring  us  both  happiness." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  faltered. 

"I  mean  that  we  are  going  to  be  married." 

"No,  Ulrich,  I  will  not  marry  you.  You  have  too  great 
an  aversion  for  a  morganatic  alliance.  I  will  not  marry 
you." 

"Yes,  Alice,  you  will  marry  me,  because  I  wish  it." 

"But  Sylvia?" 

"The  engagement  is  broken  off.  Old  Freiin  von 
Schwellenberg  is  dying,  as  you  know.  She  wrote  and 
begged  me  to  come  and  see  her.  It  seems  her  conscience 
was  troubling  her.  She  wished  to  make  a  clean  breast 
of  certain  things  concerning  Sylvia  and  yourself.     She 


4*60  THE    GREATER    JOY 

told  me  that  from  the  very  first  day  that  Sylvia  saw  you. 
she  planned  and  contrived  how  to  use  you  as  a  cat's-paw, 
either  to  get  me  out  of  the  way,  or  to  hold  me  in  Hohen 
so  that  the  Princess  could  ultimately  marry  me.  Finally, 
despairing  of  our  marriage,  and  perceiving  that  we  were 
not  tiring  of  each  other,  she  invited  Boris  to  come  to 
Hohen  for  the  express  purpose  of  alienating  you  from 
me. 

"I  knew  all  that  long  ago." 

"And  your  pride  kept  you  from  telling  me !"  he  said  re- 
proachfully. "Well,  I  went  to  Sylvia,  confronted  her 
with  the  facts,  and  asked  her  to  release  me  from  the  en- 
gagement. She  refused.  Then  I  told  her  that  if  she 
continued  to  refuse,  I  would  break  the  engagement.  I 
gave  her  just  twenty- four  hours  to  decide  which  it  should 
be.  She  began  to  cry,  and  implored  me  to  give  her  more 
time.  It  seems  that  as  long  as  she  saw  that  the  game 
was  up,  she  might  as  well  marry  the  man  she  loved.  She 
wished  Gunther  to  think  that  her  heart,  and  not  my  bru- 
tality, had  prompted  the  step.  Most  opportunely  Gunther 
was  announced  just  then.  He  had  arrived  from  England 
that  day,  and  asked  to  see  me.  He  came  into  the  room 
very  solemnly,  and  instead  of  kissing  Sylvia  on  the  cheek, 
as  he  has  always  done  when  we  are  entre  nous,  he  bowed 
very  magnificently,  and  kissed  her  hand,  and  called  her 
Grand-duchess.  Sylvia,  stammering  and  stuttering  over 
the  lie,  told  him  that  she  felt  she  must  follow  the  dictates 
of  her  heart,  and  as  I  had  generously  promised  to  release 
her,  she  had  ultimately  concluded  to  marry  the  only  man 
she  had  ever  loved.  With  another  magnificent  bow, 
Gunther  said,  'I  regret,  Grand-duchess,  to  be  forced  to 
decline  the  honor.  I  have  come  home  to  find  the  King, 
and  as  he  is  here,  I  may  as  well  prefer  my  request  at 
once.'     Another  magnificent  bow,  of  which  this  time  I 


THE    GREATER    JOY'  461 

was  the  recipient.  Then  he  continued,  addressing  me, 
'I  have  come  to  ask  your  Majesty's  permission  to  marry 
my  cousin  of  England,  Princess  Mary/  Can  you 
imagine  Sylvia's  rage  ?     I  feared  a  stroke  of  apoplexy." 

"Poor  Sylvia !"  murmured  Alice. 

"Poor  nothing!"  retorted  Ulrich.  "But  the  best  re-1 
mains  to  be  told.  I  said  to  Gunther,  'My  dear  boy,  you 
are  of  age,  Mary  is  your  peer  and  wealthy.  If  her  guar- 
dians are  satisfied  with  the  match,  you  need  no  one's  con- 
sent to  the  alliance.'  He  replied:  The  King  of  Eng- 
land is  the  head  of  her  family,  and  he  has  given  his  con- 
sent. As  is  customary,  I  must  obtain  the  formal  consent 
of  the  head  of  our  family,  of  you,  our  King.'  I  replied : 
'Gunther,  you  do  not  need  my  permission;  for  a  week 
from  to-day  you  shall  be  head  of  the  von  Dettes  and 
King  of  Hohenhof-Hohe.    I  intend  to  abdicate/  " 

The  blood  rushed  from  the  girl's  face  and  left  her 
deathly  pale. 

"Ulrich,  you  are  mad !  I  won't  let  you,  I  won't  hear  of 
it!"  she  cried  wildly. 

"Hush,  dear,  do  not  interrupt  my  story.  Gunther 
stared  hard  at  me,  and  when  he  realized  that  I  meant 
what  I  said,  he  grabbed  my  hand  in  the  big,  overgrown 
boy  way  he  has,  and  cried:  'I  am  glad,  that  at  last  you 
are  going  to  do  what  is  right !' "  But  Sylvia  was  in- 
articulate with  rage,  mortification  and  jealousy.  To  lose 
both  the  man  she  loved  and  the  crown  for  which  she  had 
schemed  and  plotted  and  lied,  was  too  bitter  a  blow.  And 
then,  as  a  fitting  culmination  for  the  little  comedy,  von 
Bardolph  entered.  He  had  overheard  all.  'Grand- 
duchess,'  he  said  to  Sylvia,  his  little  weasel-eyes  shining 
with  malice  like  green  Bengal  lights,  'What  did  I  tell 
you  years  ago  ?  "A  face  to  change  the  map  of  empires" ; 
and  the  map  would  have  been  changed,  dear  Grand- 


462  THE    GREATER    JOY 

duchess,  if  you  had  not  bungled  so  lamentably  but  had 
married  Gunther  as  you  should  have  done  years  ago/ 
That,  Alice,  is  the  end  of  my  story." 

"I  won't  let  you  abdicate !"  she  cried. 

"My  dear  Alice,"  said  Ulrich  firmly,  "I  am  going  to  do 
just  as  I  please  in  this  matter." 

"I  will  not  marry  you  if  you  abdicate,"  she  cried.  "I 
will  return  to  you — as  before — I  will  marry  you  mor- 
ganatically.     I  will  not  hear  of  your  abdicating." 

He  came  and  stood  beside  her,  and  opened  his  arms. 
She  crept  into  them,  and  he  kissed  her. 

"To-morrow  morning,"  he  said,  "the  great  news  of  my 
abdication  will  be  flashed  around  the  world;  three  days 
hence  I  sign  the  papers.  Then  Gunther  will  be  King  and 
I  shall  be  plain  Ulrich  von  Dette." 

"Don't  do  it,  Ulrich,  don't  do  it,"  she  entreated. 

"I  have  done  it,  dear  child,"  he  said.  "And  if  you 
refuse  to  marry  me,  I  shall  present  myself  at  your  door 
once  a  day,  and  propose  to  you,  and  finally  you  will  say, 
'Yes.'  Alice,  darling,  you're  not  going  to  be  foolish,  are 
you,  and  spoil  things  ?" 

"Oh,  Ulrich,  Ulrich !  I  love  you  so  passionately — I  can- 
not let  you  make  this  sacrifice." 

"It  is  no  sacrifice,  darling,"  he  whispered.  "To  re- 
nounce you  would  be  the  only  sacrifice  worthy  of  the 
name  that  I  can  think  of.  I  should  have  known  this 
long  ago,  but  I  have  been  stupid,  blind.  And  think, 
darling,  we  shall  now  have  the  right  to  hope  for  the 
greater  joy — for  the  day  when  little  feet  will  go  patter- 
ing through  the  house,  when  little  arms  will  cling  about 
our  necks " 

"Ulrich,  Ulrich!"  she  moaned,  "you  are  bribing  me 
shamelessly. 

"You  were  mistaken,  Alice,  in  one  particular.     Spring- 


THE    GREATER    JOY  463 

time  is  not  over  for  us.  Spring  is  in  our  hearts,  and 
will  remain  there  always  and  always.  For  ours  is  true 
love." 

At  last  she  whispered : 

"Yes." 

****** 

A  week  later  the  passenger  list  of  one  of  the  large 
ocean  liners  bound  for  New  York  contained  the  names : 
"Dr.  Ulrich  von  Dette  and  wife." 


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